Culture
Book Review: ‘Project Maven,’ by Katrina Manson
PROJECT MAVEN: A Marine Colonel, His Team, and the Dawn of AI Warfare, by Katrina Manson
Science-fiction authors have long fantasized about wars where machines aim the weapons and pull the triggers. In “Project Maven,” the Bloomberg News tech and national security reporter Katrina Manson claims the era of “killer robots” is here. The fusion of artificial intelligence and modern warfare raises, as she puts it, “the biggest moral and practical question there is: who — or what — gets to decide to take a human life? And who bears that cost?”
Yet that question has barely been mulled by the officers managing the new weapons or the politicians funding them. It’s a familiar syndrome in military history: New weapons technologies are perfected and rushed into the arsenal before their implications — for the future of not only war but humanity — are thought through.
How this happened with A.I. over the course of barely a decade, much of it secretly plotted by a handful of clever obsessives, is the story that Manson tells in “Project Maven,” which is also the name of the Pentagon’s main A.I. program.
The U.S. military hasn’t yet fired a weapon with no humans in the loop, but we are poised on the thin edge of that evolution. The Defense Department regulation on autonomous weapons requires only “appropriate levels of human judgment over the use of force” — without specifying who defines “appropriate.” For many existing weapons, especially the latest drones, A.I. controls every stage from the launch up to the actual kill; it does so in a matter of seconds, and human troops trust the A.I. so fully that they pull the trigger, at the algorithm’s urging, with little hesitation.
Manson’s story — deeply researched and breezily written — begins when a Marine colonel named Drew Cukor was watching a 2017 documentary about an A.I. program that beat an 18-time Go champion in four out of five games. He realized that if A.I. was spreading everywhere, it would soon spread to the battlefield. Cukor knew China was adopting it. If the United States didn’t, he feared we might lose the next big war.
The Pentagon bureaucracy at the time had little interest in the subject; it barely had a presence in the cloud. The big arms manufacturers were still focused on Cold War-era weapons. Cukor, who had been a Mormon missionary in the 1980s, set out to change the world with what one Project Maven official describes as an “insurgency mentality.” He recruited a small team that “would come to regard itself as a scrappy and subversive cult,” Manson writes, exhausted yet inspired by its leader’s fanatical brilliance. A Project Maven contractor describes him as “a psychopath,” sometimes adding “in the best way.”
Cukor was not just a visionary but also, as a deputy defense secretary puts it, “a bureaucratic Ninja.” He scoped out, as an ideal contractor for A.I. weapons, a then-obscure software firm called Palantir (which is now the world’s most highly valued defense corporation). He ghost-drafted Project Maven’s list of requirements in a way that made Palantir seem uniquely suitable for the job. He schooled Palantir’s execs — whose “pernicious” tactics, Manson writes, had alienated the Army on a previous project — on how to pitch Pentagon insiders.
Finally, Cukor found and lobbied the two or three senior Pentagon officials who, once sold on the idea, could ram the project through the bureaucracy’s indifference or hostility.
Cukor kept his true purpose secret. He had sold Maven as strictly an intelligence-gathering system. However, he later admitted to Manson, his goal was “always” to develop an A.I. that could identify targets on the battlefield and calculate which weapons in the U.S. arsenal could most quickly destroy them — and eventually, it seems, take out the targets on their own.
Compressing the “kill chain” so completely was “precisely the thing that would most scare” the project’s skeptics, Manson writes. So Cukor never mentioned his true goal and, Manson reports, admonished his team not to talk about it either — until the program racked up successes, and then commanders and their troops found its possibilities irresistible.
The turning point of Maven’s fortunes came with Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. President Joe Biden ruled against mobilizing U.S. troops (to avoid risking World War III), but, even before sending weapons, he gave the Ukrainians access to top-secret intelligence, and Maven was the main facilitator.
Almost immediately, a U.S. Army brigade, led by a Cukor enthusiast, set up an A.I. targeting system for the Ukrainians. Silicon Valley firms, including Palantir, sent technicians to tweak the database, making 60 refinements in the first few months.
In the end, Maven’s data stream let Ukrainian soldiers see and identify tens of thousands of targets — armored vehicles, missile launchers and various military facilities — and destroy hundreds of them a day, some inside Russian territory. To the extent Ukrainians beat back the much mightier Russian Army and mounted a counteroffensive, Maven played a major role.
A.I. targeting systems played a still bigger, if less publicized, role in Israel’s war in Gaza. After Hamas’s terrorist attack of Oct. 7, 2023, the Israel Defense Forces used A.I. to identify 15,000 targets — and proceeded to bomb many of them.
The results shined a harsh light on A.I. warfare’s “double-edged sword.” Some of the A.I. targets (10 percent of them, according to one estimate that Manson notes) were misidentified. The I.D.F. has said that it uses human analysts to cross-check the work of its machines, but even aside from any potential mistakes or ambiguities, A.I.-enabled weapons — which have been sold as a way to reduce civilian casualties — could make war more deadly. They give commanders “more targets, faster, and make it easier to strike them,” Manson writes. “It is hard to imagine this will lead to fewer strikes.”
The book was finished before this spring’s U.S.-Israeli airstrikes on Iran, which destroyed more than 13,000 targets, many of them at least in part civilian. Maybe the paperback edition will detail the extent to which Maven once again wreaked its awesomely efficient, and occasionally indiscriminate, powers in this theater too.
The dilemmas posed by A.I. weapons have triggered debates even among the technology’s creators. Google at first dropped out of Maven after its employees petitioned against doing any military work, but rejoined after the contracts grew lucrative and the cause — defending Ukraine — became appealing.
In February, Anthropic’s chief executive, Dario Amodei, publicly refused to work on completely autonomous weapons, but only because today’s A.I. systems “are simply not reliable enough” to support them. In his announcement, he touted “partially autonomous weapons,” like those used in Ukraine, as “vital to the defense of democracy” and allowed that fully autonomous ones “may prove critical” someday.
Even so, his critique, plus his refusal to work on domestic surveillance projects (which he said undermine “democratic values”), pushed the Trump administration into declaring Anthropic a “supply-chain risk,” which would bar it from all federal contracts. (President Trump has since begun to reconsider the prohibition.)
As with most spheres of life, it’s too late to ban A.I. from the battlefield, but Manson makes a case for continuing to challenge its use. Even Cukor — who retired from the military in 2021, never talked with any other reporters and only spoke with Manson after she begged him for nearly a year (and meanwhile interviewed his associates and critics) — is apprehensive about the revolution that he spawned. “We have all this tech,” he muses in the last of their many sessions. “Are we the best custodians of it?”
PROJECT MAVEN: A Marine Colonel, His Team, and the Dawn of AI Warfare | By Katrina Manson | Norton | 406 pp. | $31.99
Culture
The Best Books of 2026 So Far: ‘Kin,’ ‘London Falling’ and More
I want to understand the roots of our political climate
by Heather Ann Thompson
When did white rage become normalized? This is the question that drew Thompson, a Pulitzer Prize-winning historian, to the story of Bernie Goetz, a white man who shot four Black teenagers on a subway in 1984. In Thompson’s deeply researched account, the Goetz case becomes a through line to the present: the event that, against a backdrop of growing inequality and racial resentment in the early 1980s, first gave legal cover to white vigilantism, creating a template increasingly embraced on the right today. Read our review.
Culture
Where Have All the Book Reviews Gone?
But here’s a catch with A.I. It’s easy to tell when a reference, or a comparison, or a sentence, doesn’t belong to a writer. Erudition and style aren’t forgeable for long; it still must be earned. As for A.I.’s sleek, space-efficient text, we’ve already grown accustomed to what that sounds like — the flat, consistent tone, the pert little summary bits, the repetitions, the impersonal and fluorescent-lit mood. Reading it, you feel you’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name.
It will get much better. Like a Nakamichi Model 500, perhaps, A.I. models will probably someday be programmed to calculate range and trajectory and to spit out rich critical prose. But as John Berryman put it in one of his “Dream Songs,” speaking of dead-on-their-feet essayists everywhere, “When the mind dies it exudes rich critical prose.” A.I. machinations can reflect the consensus, but it’s part of a real critic’s job to not go flopping along with the times, to wage guerrilla warfare on that consensus. Je suis Claude? Nix to that.
Book reviews may survive if only because, as Elizabeth Hardwick observed, publishers need praise for their new releases “as an Easter basket needs shredded green paper under the eggs.” But the breakup of the monoculture, the rise of algorithms and the flattening of taste mean that critics will never, for better and worse, have the consecrating power they once did.
Pauline Kael, Albert Murray, Lester Bangs, Edmund Wilson and Kenneth Tynan — five of my critical heroes — knew what to notice, in ways that can’t be taught or imitated, and they knew how to make their prose and their ideas stick. I’m cheered by the young critics out there, swimming in this sea without drowning in it, trying not to be cast into gaol by their creditors, and working to make certain that the last snatch of book criticism isn’t three fire emojis, two jazz-hands, a crying face and a facepalm.
Culture
Book Review: ‘Ghost Town,’ by Tom Perrotta
GHOST TOWN, by Tom Perrotta
Upon finishing Tom Perrotta’s new novel, “Ghost Town,” I found myself agreeably haunted by the corpulent specter of Harold Bloom: the late, great literary critic who called the Harry Potter books “rubbish only good for the dustbin where they will certainly wind up in a generation or so,” and Stephen King “immensely inadequate” and “a writer of penny dreadfuls.”
In “Ghost Town,” a successful author named Jay Perry, a minor-league version of the successful author Perrotta, is fretting about his legacy. He has suffered from a crude version of what Bloom called “the anxiety of influence,” maybe even with regard to … Stephen King.
A graduate of Princeton and the Iowa Writers’ Workshop (as Perrotta is of Yale and Syracuse), Perry had a 15-year run as a “literary writer,” with diminishing returns. His oeuvre includes a short-story collection featuring a Pennywise-like clown who dies during a kindergartner’s birthday party while one dad is making out with a mom ghost.
Perry promised his wife that his next book would be commercial, and pounded out a supernatural noir called “Ghost Teacher.” His agent persuaded him to make the teacher a “guiding spirit” for underdog students, and a successful young-adult series and animated TV show were born.
But Perry, now a financially secure empty nester with an infinity pool in the Hollywood Hills — if not quite the clout of Perrotta, whose sexy screen adaptations include “Election,” “Little Children” and “The Leftovers” (reviewed by King in the Times Book Review) — has grown melancholy and reflective. What story does he have left to tell?
Glancingly confronting themes of artistic integrity and abandonment, including self-abandonment, and unfolding mostly in flashbacks to the early 1970s, “Ghost Town” is a formulaic coming-of-age tale swirled in soft-serve spook.
Perry grew up Jimmy Perrini in Creamwood, N.J., fictional but recognizable Perrotta country (he’s from Garwood) that he’s avoided in adult life. When the mayor invites him back to a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a new municipal building, he is prompted, after many years of burying the dark aspects of his past, to exhume them. The result is less penny dreadful than mild freaky-deaky. Your spine will not be chilled, nor even remotely cooled.
Whoever options “Ghost Town” will want to check if the set decorator and costume designer from Cameron Crowe’s “Almost Famous” are available. The novel is stocked with lemon shampoo; coconut suntan oil with low protection factor; Cap’n Crunch; a velour recliner and lava lamp. Characters wear bell bottoms or terry cloth gym shorts; they drive Camaros and Darts; they dodge the draft and toke up. The soundtrack to their young lives includes the Allman Brothers’ “Eat a Peach” on eight-track tape, and “Kung Fu Fighting” blaring from WABC on a portable radio.
Jimmy had a “normal” nuclear family that fissured fast. We barely get acquainted with his mother before she dies of cancer while he’s on the baseball field. From then on his older sister and their father, a union welder and volunteer firefighter, disappear into their own lives. (Besides grieving, Mr. Perrini is busy fabricating ductwork for a new A.&P.) The adults in this book are chalk outlines. Unpleasant topics — estrangement, architectural eyesores, drinking problems — are whispered in italics.
Jimmy bonds with Olivia, a smart older teen who lost her father and baby brother in a car accident. Trying to reach their dead parents using a Ouija board, they connect with a mysterious apparition identifying himself as Uncle Bob.
There’s a possibly creepy priest who tries to console Jimmy with a trip to the beach, a joyriding bad influence named Eddie and a clunky subplot about disruption to the racial homogeneity of Creamwood, whose on-the-nose name sounds like a brand stocked in that A.&P. frozen dessert aisle.
I have John Updike on the brain — A.&P.! — but then I always have Updike (dismissed by Bloom as “a minor novelist with a major style,” by the way) on the brain. Still, with Perrotta regularly anointed the 21st century’s foremost chronicler of adulterous suburbia, the eeriest thing about “Ghost Town” may be how its fiery denouement echoes 1971’s “Rabbit Redux.”
Does “Ghost Town” stink like the Oscar the Grouch garbage cans in downtown Creamwood? Nah. It has the practiced Perrotta polish; an easy shrug about how it will be received or remembered.
“That’s the thing about writing,” Perry tells a sparse crowd at the library where, “as the only famous writer our town has ever produced!,” per the mayor, he’s been invited to give a reading. “It’s all a big mystery. You don’t know where your ideas come from, you don’t know how to get them onto the page, and you have no idea how the world’s going to react to them. You’ve got to learn to be comfortable with the not knowing, or at least learn to live with it.”
GHOST TOWN | By Tom Perrotta | Scribner | 288 pp. | $28
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