More Awesome Than Money: Four
Boys and Their Heroic Quest to Save Your Privacy from Facebook. By Jim
Dwyer. Viking. $27.95.
John Marshall: The Chief Justice
Who Saved the Nation. By Harlow Giles Unger. Da Capo. $27.99.
Optimistic in the face of a
glaringly pessimistic climax, focusing on the naïve optimism of tech-savvy
young men as if it is a story never before told, Jim Dwyer tries to make of More Awesome Than Money something more
than a tale of high hopes and ultimate failure. Slow-paced and cogently but not
excitingly written, the narrative instead comes across as an unsurprising story
of youthful dreams and overreaching, of pizza-chomping coders overwhelmed by practical
realities as they march forth to save the world. Dwyer, a New York Times reporter, seems blissfully unaware of just how
clichéd his story of Dan Grippi, Max Salzberg, Rafi Sofaer, and Ilya
Zhitomirskiy seems: he tells it as if these four New York University
undergraduates were the first young people ever to dream a technological dream
and try to scale the heights of its implementation. Dwyer followed their story
for years and seems to be fascinated by it, but readers will likely be less gripped
by a narrative that takes them through far too many unsurprising tech-geek
events and far too much self-sabotage. The four tried to create a social-media
alternative to Facebook called Diaspora, based on the notion that social-media
companies should not have such extensive control of users’ personal data – users
should retain that control, and would in a Diaspora world. There was initial
financial success through crowdfunding (a Kickstarter campaign that raised
$200,000), but the four principals never really had any idea of what their
project was or might be worth: they completely alienated a venture-capital firm
by asking for $10,000,000. During a three-year time period, Grippi, Salzberg,
Sofaer and Zhitomirskiy lived in what appears to be an utterly standard San
Francisco tech-startup pressure cooker, trying to satisfy their crowdfunders,
attract bigger money, and actually write the code needed to launch Disapora
into the world.
Comparing the project’s
eventual failure to the flare-out of a comet – itself a clichéd metaphor –
Dwyer explores the personalities of the four principals without ever giving a
sense that they differ in any fundamental way from other tech-oriented members
of the millennial generation. Calling them “boys” in the book’s subtitle
borders on insult, for example; and does it really signify anything that they,
like thousands of others, attend the Burning Man festival? The skimming of the
inner lives of the four would-be tech entrepreneurs undermines what could be
strong emotional impact when the most idealistic of them commits suicide at age
22 – an occurrence that ought to lead Dwyer to tamp down his enthusiasm for
what the four tried to do, or at least to put it into a stronger context, but
that does not. The shock at the suicide thus becomes a generic reaction to the
death at a young age of a man with high ideals and considerable talent – but
there is little sense that his ideals and talent were fundamentally his rather than an example of beliefs,
hopes and abilities shared with a large number of others of his generation
(including his three compatriots in Diaspora). There is some irony in the fact
that the word “diaspora” refers to people with similar heritage (originally the
Jews) who have dispersed widely, since the suicide – and the ultimate failure
of Diaspora as a project – did indeed scatter the four principals. But there is
little sense of irony in More Awesome
Than Money, which takes its story very seriously indeed and very much at
face value, to the point of including within it a history of the Internet as a
whole from the start of the World Wide Web through the creation of the Firefox
browser. Dwyer notes that digital innovation occurs so quickly that innovators
can find themselves left behind: some useful features intended for Diaspora
were quickly copied, modified and introduced by major tech companies even as
the Diaspora protagonists were struggling to pull them together. Indeed, the
Diaspora concept is similar to that of Ello, which specifically proclaims that
it was created to counter a world in which “your social network is owned by
advertisers” and which has been designated by several media organizations as
“the anti-Facebook.” Ello may become what Diaspora was intended to be – but
because non-electronic book publishing takes so much time, there is no mention
of Ello in Dwyer’s book. More Awesome
Than Money is ultimately the chronicle of people who failed, largely
through unworldliness and hubris, to achieve what they idealistically and
unrealistically sought. But because the people seem more types than fully
formed individuals, it is a story that seems not “heroic,” the book’s subtitle
notwithstanding, but one filled at most with pathos and never with tragedy.
The issues are far older,
drier and more complex – and incomparably more important – in Harlow Giles
Unger’s John Marshall: The Chief Justice
Who Saved the Nation. This is an extended biography of a man who, if
remembered at all by non-scholars and non-lawyers today, is known for having
served longer than anyone else on the Supreme Court (35 years) and for
presiding over an important but little-understood-by-non-specialists case
called Marbury v. Madison. So the
title of Unger’s book may seem a vast overstatement to most people – and,
indeed, his hagiographic arguments are so pro-Marshall (and so strongly
condemnatory of other Founding Fathers, notably Thomas Jefferson) that the book
may be difficult for people unfamiliar with early United States history to
follow and accept. Nevertheless, it is a fascinating if often one-sided read,
clearly celebrating a jurist who went beyond the letter of constitutional law
to establish the balance-of-powers system we have today. Unger traces Marshall’s
pre-Supreme-Court life as a Revolutionary War officer, congressman, member of
the Virginia delegation to the Constitutional Convention, diplomat, and
Secretary of State under John Adams – who initially appointed Marshall to the
court and even named him Acting President
one summer, during which Marshall supervised the planning of what would
become Washington, D.C. Yet all this political material, and the personal
information on Marshall that Unger also lays out with care and attentiveness,
serves as window dressing for Marbury v.
Madison and a second case of nearly equal significance, McCullough v. Maryland. The details of
the cases are arcane: Marbury v. Madison
had to do with whether or not Secretary of State James Madison could be
compelled to deliver papers commissioning Maryland financier William Marbury as
a Justice of the Peace in the District of Columbia, a position to which Marbury
had been named during a lame-duck congressional session at the end of President
Adams’ term; McCullough v. Maryland
dealt with the state’s attempt to impose a tax on all banks not chartered
within the state – specifically targeting the Second Bank of the United States.
What matters to American jurisprudence today, and what was recognized in
Marshall’s own time as being supremely important, was the rationale for the
decisions the Supreme Court made – decisions by means of which it immensely
elevated its stature from that of a mere “final appeals court,” which heard
only 11 cases in its first 11 years, to that of a branch of government as
powerful as the executive and legislative.
Marbury v. Madison established, or at
least solidified, the principle of “judicial review,” a concept that appears
nowhere in the Constitution and that allows the Supreme Court to nullify laws,
duly passed by Congress, if the court finds them to be in violation of the
Constitution. McCullough v. Maryland
affirmed federal sovereignty over the states and severely restricted the
actions that states could take affecting matters outside their borders. Together,
these decisions, reinforced by others in the Marshall years, created the
delicate and complex tripartite balancing act within which the United States
government operates – establishing and affirming a system very different from
the parliamentary democracy of Great Britain. Unger does a good job of
explaining these decisions, their implications and the controversies they
generated – and in so doing makes it clear that he favors Marshall’s arguments
over those of Jefferson, who himself exceeded explicit constitutional authority
by authorizing the Louisiana Purchase from Napoleon. The back-and-forth of
early American politics resembles the push-and-pull of today, albeit with more
resonant language and more physical violence (from fisticuffs to duels). Unger,
however, is less interested in the rough-and-tumble of political infighting in
the young nation than in the way Marshall’s own political savvy helped his
controversial decisions stand up to objections and even stopped Jefferson from
packing the Supreme Court with his own supporters (as Franklin Roosevelt
notoriously tried to do many years later). A treat for scholars interested in
early American history and an eye-opener for non-historians seeking insight
into the unusual balance of powers within which the U.S. government functions, John Marshall: The Chief Justice Who Saved
the Nation will be slow going for others – a worthwhile task to read, but a
task nonetheless.
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