A hard book to review in that I love (literary) memoirs, but literary merit is beside the point here—the point being the exposé of Facebook’s leadership and business practices and how this affects all of us, whether we use Facebook or not. And yes, I read this because Meta (Facebook’s parent company) got an arbitrator to forbid the author from promoting it, thereby obligating us all to read it, if only to resist the encroachment of our would-be corporate overloads.
As an exposé I think it is a good one, and no doubt took guts to publish. Certainly Facebook’s leadership come across as raging assholes without a single moral compass amongst them, particularly Mark Zuckerberg (in an “entitled man-child” kind of way), Sheryl Sandberg (in a “corporate feminist” kind of way), and Joel Kaplan (in a “young Republican” kind of way). Much of the book is about the author’s dealings with them, which at least explains how the more far-reaching awful stuff happened. Speaking of which, there’s the collusion with the Chinese government to turn over data (even while insisting to everyone else that they would never do this for anyone). There’s the emotional targeting of advertisements to vulnerable people (such as ads for weight loss products aimed at teen girls who have recently deleted a selfie or posted words like “worthless”). There’s the close partnership between Facebook and Donald Trump, in which Facebook embedded staff members with his first campaign and he rode misinformation, trolling and an exploitation of Facebook’s algorithm to victory, even paying lower ad fees because his content got so much engagement (Facebook’s leadership was impressed). There’s the actual genocide in Myanmar, which seems to have resulted from hate speech and inflammatory lies proliferating on the site without any moderation—or when moderation happened, it was often to shut down peace groups.
Overall, it would be hard to come away from this book seeing Facebook as anything but a blight on humanity. Unfortunately, as detailed in the book, part of Facebook’s strategy for avoiding regulation involves both getting buddy-buddy with politicians, and being necessary to said politicians’ campaigns and communication with constituents, so they’ll be too dependent to stop it.
As a book, meanwhile, Careless People is… okay. It’s certainly engaging: gossipy, easy to read, and fast-moving, with relatively short chapters. The author tells her personal stories in a compelling way. It’s long for a memoir, and probably could’ve been cut down, but I nonetheless found it compelling enough to read quickly.
Others have pointed out that Wynn-Williams does not reckon with her own culpability, and that is true. Her narrative decisions here are quite strategic. First of all, she writes the entire memoir in the present tense, which is an awkward device that sometimes trips her up, see for instance:
It’s been a torturous process to get agreement to have Mark onstage with presidents, but the Panamanians have been helpful accomplices. That is until the White House heard what I’d done. They’re furious for reasons I never uncovered, but I think they don’t like the power dynamics of Mark onstage with Obama and other presidents.
Aside from the headache-inducing tense shifts, this creates a constant ambiguity about whether the author is speaking her from vantage point at the time of events or the time of writing—and, most importantly, leaves no room for reflection. By affecting to inhabit her perspective from the time of events, she can’t deploy hindsight, which means she doesn’t have to reckon with anything.
Her other strategic narrative choice is to present herself as a cypher, a generic heroine, combining a dedicated work ethic, strong moral compass and unhealthy amount of naivete with… no other personality traits whatsoever. When she sneers at Mark Zuckerberg for preferring karaoke over all other forms of letting loose (which has to be the least sneer-worthy thing about Zuckerberg) it was simultaneously the most personality she showed in 380 pages, and deeply strange because at no point do we learn what she does for fun.
I sort of get it, in that anyone who reads much knows that having a personality is the fastest way for a woman to be deemed “unlikeable,” and thus presenting herself as boring and yet as unimpeachable as possible is perhaps the best way to get out the information she has to share. If that means the conversation will be about Facebook rather than derailing to focus on the character of Sarah Wynn-Williams, that is a success.
But I also got vibes of an author seeking validation by asking readers to self-insert onto her, rather than owning or exploring her own feelings. This is particularly true when she describes her family’s and doctors’ behavior around a couple of near-death medical crises. What am I supposed to do, for instance, with that gem about her husband giving their baby a surprise name (after his mother, no less) while the author is in a coma after nearly dying in childbirth? I would be furious, but this didn’t happen to me, it happened to Sarah Wynn-Williams, it's her judgment that matters, and people don’t usually throw shade at current spouses in published memoirs, so maybe she thinks it’s funny? Personally, I hardly see the point of recounting this anecdote shorn of emotional context; I read memoirs to learn about the memoirist’s experiences and feelings, not to project my own. But perhaps that too is a strategy for appealing to the lowest common denominator, who will relate to her more for the projection.
In the end, a worthwhile book if you want to know more about malfeasance at Facebook, or just to thumb your nose at evil corporations. On a literary level, I’ve read better.