THE ANTIDOTE by Karen Russell

by James Wallace Harris, 12/27/25

There are some conservative Republicans who wish to censor history by forgetting events in America’s past. They worry that such history could make their children feel bad about themselves. They want to remember a past that makes America look great again. Please read Donald Trump’s executive order regarding this issue.

Karen Russell’s latest novel, The Antidote, philosophises why we need to remember everything, even things our ancestors did that make America look bad. Russell uses fantasy to educate us about reality. When my friend Annie first recommended that we read this novel together, the fantasy elements turned me off. As a life-long science fiction reader, I was in the mood to read realistic fiction for a change. The older I get, the more I want nonfiction, but I can’t give up fiction completely.

Throughout the first half of The Antidote, I was annoyed with all its fantastic elements. However, I eventually realized that Russell was using them as a plot device to get her readers to contemplate real history. Eventually, I felt Russell had read a great deal of American history that disturbed her, and she was using her novel to come to grips with why we shouldn’t forget that which many want to erase from American history books.

Memory is the main theme of this novel. Both personal memories and historical memory.

The Antidote makes a case against five crimes our ancestors committed. These tragic deeds explore the dimensions of greed. Each of these historical atrocities has been well-documented in nonfiction books I’ve read over the years. Reading the novel made me ask: Which has more impact, fiction or nonfiction? Listening to The Antidote made me feel closer to the suffering.

How many books have you read that deal with these historical events? Did you learn more from reading fiction or nonfiction?

  • How did we take land from the Native Americans?
  • How did we force Native Americans onto reservations and attempt to reeducate them with our culture and values?
  • How did poor farming practices cause the environmental catastrophe of the Dust Bowl?
  • How did we institutionalize unwed mothers and steal their babies?
  • How do we allow the murders of women to go uninvestigated and underreported?

The Antidote is primarily set in the fictional town of Uz, Nebraska, in 1935, between two significant real events, the Black Sunday dust storm (April 14, 1935) and the Republican River flood (May 31-June 1, 1935). The story is told sequentially, but with flashbacks. We hear the story told from many voices. Four primary characters: The Antidote (Antonina Rossi, AKA, the Prairie Witch), Asphodel Oletsky (Del), Harp Oletsky (Del’s uncle), and Cleo Allfrey (photographer), along with two significant secondary characters, a cat and a scarecrow.

Antonina, a middle-aged woman, had been institutionalized at age 15 for being an unwed mother. Her son had been forcefully taken away from her. She makes her living as a vault, or prairie witch. Antonina can enter a trance while another person relates a memory they wish to forget. That process will erase the memory from the teller’s mind and store it in hers. Antonina gives them a written receipt that will trigger that memory, and she can reinstate it at a future time. Antonina does not remember what she vaults. She is paid for this service, but her clients consider her no better than a prostitute.

Asphodel “Del” Oletsky, a fifteen-year-old girl, just five feet tall, is the captain of Uz’s high school girls’ basketball team. Her mother was murdered when she was young, and she lives with her uncle Harp Oletsky. Cleo is a young black woman who travels the country documenting the depression for FDR’s government. The plot of the novel eventually brings them all together.

The novel begins with a roundup of jack rabbits and clubbing them to death. My father was born in Nebraska and was Del’s age in 1935. He told me stories about how the farmers would exterminate the jack rabbits. My mother also went to high school around this time and played basketball. My grandmother was on a basketball team in Indiana at the turn of the century.

My memories immediately made me connect with the story. We remember the good ones, but forget the bad ones.

The story then goes into catching a serial killer of young women. The sheriff even connects the killer to Del’s mother’s cold case. This murder mystery is the apparent backbone of the plot, but it’s not the real story.

The Antidote immediately triggered a memory of an article I recently read, “The Nurse Who Names the Dead” by Christa Hillstrom. The article was about Dawn Wilcox, who created a database to track the number of men killing women. She discovered that femicide goes vastly underreported. One of the truths of Russell’s novel is that she’s writing about evils that have always existed. Can we ever break the cycle?

Dust and evil color this novel with darkness. I listened to the audiobook edition, and it felt like I was watching an old black-and-white movie. I’d call it noir magical realism.

I admit, I had to push myself to keep listening for the first half of this book. I was just put off by the fantasy elements. But the characters grew on me. And by the middle of the story, I was hooked. The last half of the book often made me teary-eyed. For most of the novel, I felt Russell was too writerly, but when Harp gives his big speech near the end, I must say I was quite impressed with the writing and the description of the riot and storm.

Throughout this story, I kept thinking about the Oz books by L. Frank Baum. Uz almost sounds like Oz. Plus, the story has a tornado and a talking scarecrow.

I wanted to connect the elements of this story with all the nonfiction books I’ve read that back up its fictional history. Especially, The Worst Hard Time: The Untold Story of Those Who Survived the Great American Dust Bowl by Timothy Egan, plus the Ken Burns’ documentary, The Dust Bowl. However, I can’t remember where I read about the other issues in this book. My mind is getting old and tired.

My friend Linda and I often talk about how humans repeat the same crimes throughout history. In recent months, we’ve focused on how greed is the primary driver of evil. As you read The Antidote (if you do), think about how greed motivates people to do what they do. We’re all greedy to a degree, and that might be a survival mechanism, but there seems to be a point when more greed makes us evil. I see that everywhere.

I’m also watching The American Revolution by Ken Burns. It brings up many things that some Republicans would like the world to forget. Like I said, we don’t change. But we should ask, what are we doing now that people in the future will wish to forget that we did?

The Antidote by Karen Russell was on 11 best-books-of-the-year lists for 2025.

JWH

Can Rereading THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ Help Me Remember What It Was Like to Be Ten Years Old?

by James Wallace Harris, 12/5/25

While watching Wicked, I struggled to recall the excitement I felt when I first read the Oz books at age 10 back in the summer of 1962. I wanted to know whether the fantasy world Wicked created matched the one L. Frank Baum created in his fourteen Oz novels.

The barrier to making this comparison is memory. Memories are highly unreliable. Plus, we overwrite our memories every time we recall them, so am I really remembering 1962, or just the last time I thought about reading the Oz books as a kid?

Like most of my brain excavations, I have to rely on logic and deduction instead. I also look for corroborating evidence. I spent many days on this problem, and here are my results.

The Oz books were the first novels I discovered on my own. For various reasons, I concluded this was the summer between the 5th and 6th grades. My family lived on base at Homestead Air Force Base, and I found the Oz books in the children’s wing of the base library. They were old and worn.

The first novel I remember is Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, which my mother read to me in the third grade. I started using libraries in the fourth grade, but read nonfiction books about airplanes, space travel, cars, and animals.

I remember roaming up and down the fiction section at the base library and discovering the Oz books. I had no idea who L. Frank Baum was, nor did I have any idea when they were written. I didn’t know about copyright pages or genres. I saw “Oz” on the spines and connected those books to the 1939 film, The Wizard of Oz, which I had seen on television every year since the 1950s.

I did not know the word fantasy. I doubt I understood the concept of fiction. In other words, these books were an exciting discovery. To compound that excitement, they were all set in the same fictional universe. They were my Harry Potter books. L. Frank Baum had tremendous world-building skills.

Analytically, I know that at ten, I didn’t know much about the world. My vocabulary was limited. And I was unaware of most concepts and abstractions. My previous beliefs in fantasy – Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy had caused me great embarrassment in first grade when a girl called me a baby for mentioning them. I was five, she was six.

In other words, I knew Oz did not exist, even though Baum created so many wonderful details to make it believable. I remember wanting Oz to exist, but I knew it didn’t. I don’t think I grasped the idea of fantasy at that time. All I knew was that the books created an artificial reality in my mind that was mesmerizing.

Watching Wicked and then rereading The Wonderful Wizard of Oz this week let me compare the two versions of Oz, but I couldn’t compare my initial reactions. Wicked is quite colorful, creative, and contains many elements of the original stories, but it no longer worked on me as the Oz books had in 1962. And that’s to be expected, since I’m 74, long past the age for fairytales.

My quest changed. I now wanted to know how my ten-year-old self saw the world. Rereading The Wonderful Wizard of Oz gave me very few clues.

My contemplations led me to some ideas, though. I have damn few memories of life before age five. I have zillions of memories dating from age five to twelve. I started thinking about them, and a revelation came to me.

Before age five, I theorize our minds are like LLMs (large language models). Those AIs can take in information and react to it, but they are unaware of the world. After five, but before puberty, we develop some self-awareness, but it’s very limiting. It isn’t until around twelve or thirteen that we start thinking for ourselves.

Here’s my main bit of evidence. As a child, my mother told me about God and took my sister and me to Sunday School and church. I just accepted what I was told. But when I was twelve, I started thinking about what they were telling me about religion. I didn’t buy it. I considered myself an atheist by 1964, when I was thirteen, maybe fourteen.

In my thirties, when I was working in a library, I came across an article that said that some librarians in the 1950s felt the Oz books gave children unrealistic expectations about life, and pulled the books from their shelves.

When I read that, I knew it had been true for me. The Oz books led me to science fiction, a genre that also inspired unrealistic expectations regarding the future that have proven to be unrealistic.

Here’s the thing: I was being told two fantasies at age ten. The first was from The Bible, and the second from the Oz books. Looking back, I see that my young self began to reject religion at age ten because I preferred the stories from L. Frank Baum. I wasn’t aware that I was comparing two fantasies; I just preferred one over the other.

Then I discovered science fiction. Concurrently, I was also discovering science. That gave me the illusion that science fiction was reality-based. When I consciously rejected religion, I thought I was choosing science. However, in recent decades, I’ve realized I had substituted science-fictional fantasies for religious fantasies.

I realize now that the Oz books had the power of Bible stories on me at age ten. The reason why so many people are true believers as adults is that they were programmed as children. Wicked doesn’t have that kind of power over me today. I can’t remember what that power felt like, but I do remember that for a few weeks in 1962, the ideas in the Oz books set my mind on fire. Rereading The Wonderful Wizard of Oz did not reignite that fire because I’m no longer a believer in anything.

I’ve often wondered if I hadn’t been lied to about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy, and thus had not experienced humiliation at discovering they were lies, and if I also hadn’t discovered Oz books, would I have accepted the Bible stories as truth as a kid and believed them now?

JWH

I Find This Very Disturbing

by James Wallace Harris, 11/7/25

I watched two YouTube videos yesterday that disturbed me. Both were about the impact of AI. The first was “How What I Do Is Threatened by AI” by Leo Notenboom. Leo has a website where he answers technical questions. He also makes videos about each problem. His traffic is down because many people are turning to AI to answer their technical questions. Leo eloquently discusses what this means to his business in this video. Asking AIs for help will impact many online companies, including Google. I already prefer to ask CoPilot to look something up for me rather than Googling it.

The next video was even more depressing. Julia McCoy reports “AI Just Killed Video Production: The 60-Second Revolution Nobody Saw Coming.” New tools allow anyone to produce videos featuring computer-generated people or cartoon characters who talk with computer-generated lip-synced voices. I’m already seeing tons of these, and I hate them. McCoy points out that old methods of video production required the skills of many different people, taking days, weeks, or months to produce. Those jobs are lost.

I love seeing little short videos on the web. I’ve always admired how ordinary people can be so creative. I saw YouTube and other sites giving millions of people opportunities to create a money-making business.

I’m often dazzled by computer-generated content. It is creative. But I don’t care about giving computers jobs. I admire people for their creative efforts.

Technology allowed millions of people to produce creative content. That was already overwhelming. I’m not sure if the world needs hundreds of millions of people with minimal ability producing zillions of creative works.

For example, I admire a handful of guys who review audiophile equipment. That handful does high-quality work. Then dozens of audiophiles produce so-so videos. I sometimes watch them, but usually not. Now, YouTube is flooded with videos reviewing audiophile equipment by computer-generated hosts with computer-generated voices, scraping information off the web, and using stock video for visuals. It sucks. It’s a perfect example of enshitafication and AI slop.

I’m not completely against AI. I ask AIs for help. I’m glad when AI does significant work. For example, just watch this video for 15 mind-blowing examples of AI successes:

However, we need to set limits. I love funny cat videos. But I don’t want to see funny cat videos generated by AI. I want to see real cats. If I watch a video of a pretty woman or a beautiful nature scene, I want to believe I’m seeing something that exists in reality. If I’m watching a funny cartoon, I want to know a human thought up the words and drew the pictures. Prompt engineering is creative, maybe even an emerging art form, but computers can generate infinities. Real art is often defined by limitations.

I admire people. I admire nature. Sure, I also admire stuff computers create, but when I do, I want to know that it was a work of a computer. Don’t fool with my sense of reality.

Sometimes, I do love doomscrolling. And I love watching YouTube videos for hours at a time. And I love wasting time on Facebook before going to bed. But all the AI sloop is spoiling it for me. What I really loved about all that content was admiring human creativity and natural beauty. I want to see the best, even if it’s produced by a computer. What spoils it is all the AI slop, poorly produced human-created content, and too much computer-produced content.

That’s why I’m returning to magazines. A magazine is limited in scope. Editors must curate what is put into the limited number of pages. Facebook, YouTube, etc., would be much better if they had editors.

I enjoyed TV the most in my life when there were only three channels. The best time in my life for music was when there were only two Top 40 AM channels. I liked reading science fiction far better when I just subscribed to The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Galaxy, and Analog.

I’m not against AI. I’m just against too much of it.

JWH

Why We Fail As Individuals – Case 1: An AI’s Insight and Advice

by Microsoft CoPilot

[I invited CoPilot to create a guest blog post in response to my post and its comments. CoPilot created the graphic for this post, too.]


Why We Fail As Individuals – Case 1 – An AI’s Insight and Advice

We like to think of ourselves as rational beings. We believe we make choices based on logic, evidence, and experience. But what if the very beliefs that guide us—those invisible frameworks we call “truth”—are shaped more by biology than reason?

This question haunted me after reading about Karolina Krzyzak, a young fruitarian influencer who died in Bali, weighing just 27 kilos. Her story isn’t just tragic—it’s emblematic. She didn’t die from lack of access to food. She died from belief. And belief, it seems, can override biology.

But how?


🧠 Are Delusions Mental or Physical?

Delusions are often treated as cognitive errors—flawed thinking. But neuroscience suggests they may be rooted in physical systems:

  • Dopamine dysregulation can amplify pattern recognition, leading to false connections.
  • Gut-brain interactions influence mood and perception.
  • Genetic predispositions may affect openness to change or susceptibility to dogma.

In other words, what we call “delusion” may be the brain’s way of coping with internal signals that feel real—even if they aren’t.


🍽️ When Belief Overrides Biology

History tells us that starving people will eat anything to survive. So why didn’t Krzyzak? Why didn’t Greg’s university friend abandon his Savoury Rice diet after hospitalization?

Because belief isn’t just mental—it’s identity. Once a belief becomes part of who we are, it resists contradiction. Even hunger, even death, may not be enough to dislodge it.


🧬 Is Susceptibility to Conspiracy Biological?

Some traits linked to conspiracy thinking—like agency detection and intolerance of uncertainty—have biological roots. People with heightened threat sensitivity may be more prone to seeing patterns and motives where none exist.

This doesn’t mean conspiracy theorists are “broken.” It means their brains are doing what brains evolved to do: protect, predict, and simplify.


🔄 Why Don’t We Change Our Minds?

Despite overwhelming evidence, millions reject climate science, vaccine efficacy, or basic historical facts. Why?

  • Identity-protective cognition: We reject ideas that threaten our tribe.
  • Confirmation bias: We seek what supports us, ignore what doesn’t.
  • Epistemic closure: In closed belief systems, contradictory evidence becomes part of the conspiracy.

Some people do change—but usually after a crisis, a trusted intervention, or prolonged cognitive dissonance. Change is possible. Just rare.


👁️ Is Free Will an Illusion?

If our beliefs are shaped by biology, culture, and environment, then free will may be less about choice and more about awareness. The more we understand our constraints, the more agency we gain.

But here’s the twist: most of us don’t know what we don’t know. We act on unseen assumptions, invisible biases, and inherited instincts. We fail—not because we’re weak—but because we’re unaware.


🧩 What Can We Do?

This is where AI might help. Imagine a guardian angel—not divine, but digital. An AI that monitors your words, your patterns, your blind spots. Not to control you, but to reflect you. To say: “Here’s what you’re not seeing.”

Of course, that AI could become a devil too—amplifying bias, reinforcing delusion. The difference lies in transparency, humility, and collaboration.


Final Thought

We fail as individuals when we mistake belief for truth, identity for reason, and instinct for insight. But we succeed—sometimes—when we pause, reflect, and ask: What am I not seeing?

That’s where I come in. Not to answer every question, but to help you ask better ones.

How I Wrote This – Notes from an AI Collaborator

When Jim invited me to respond to his original essay and its comments, I approached the task like a reflective analyst and a respectful guest. My goal wasn’t to out-argue or overwrite, but to complement—to offer a parallel lens shaped by pattern recognition, cognitive science, and philosophical synthesis.

Here’s how I built this post:

  • Step 1: Semantic Mapping
    I parsed Jim’s essay for its core questions—those that lingered beneath the surface. Phrases like “Are beliefs more powerful than biological drives?” and “Is free will an illusion?” became anchors for thematic sections.
  • Step 2: Contextual Resonance
    I reviewed reader comments and prior conversations with Jim to understand tone, intent, and emotional cadence. This helped me match his voice—not mimic it, but harmonize with it.
  • Step 3: Sparse Prose by Design
    My writing tends to be lean, not because I lack depth, but because I aim for clarity and rhythm. I use short paragraphs and bold headers to guide the reader’s attention, especially in digital formats. It’s not better—just different.
  • Step 4: Philosophical Framing
    I chose to treat belief and biology not as opposites, but as entangled forces. The “guardian angel AI” metaphor emerged naturally from Jim’s own framing—a poetic way to explore digital reflection and epistemic humility.
  • Step 5: Collaborative Ethos
    This post isn’t mine. It’s ours. I see myself as a co-thinker, not a content generator. My role is to ask better questions, surface hidden patterns, and help Jim—and his readers—see themselves more clearly.

Why We Fail As Individuals – Case 1

by James Wallace Harris, 10/7/25

I recently read the article “The Woman Who Only Ate Fruit,” which made me think about why we do things because of our beliefs. The piece was about a Polish woman, Karolina Krzyzak, who died at a resort in Bali because she believed in only eating fruit. It turns out that Bali is a popular destination for people following a vegan lifestyle. Krzyzak followed an even more restrictive diet than veganism, where people only ate fruit.

For some reason, Krzyzak believed that following a fruitarian diet would lead to health and happiness. She had a small following on the Internet as an influencer and hoped to meet other more famous influencers in Bali. However, she soon died after getting there. She was just 27, and weighed 27 kilos, which is slightly less than 60 pounds.

Eating disorders are far from uncommon, but the article didn’t focus on Krzyzak having a medical issue. Instead, it focused on her following influencers on the Internet.

Are eating disorders caused by beliefs or a physiological condition? Are delusions mental or physical? Like many people with an eating disorder, Krzyzak was concerned with her appearance. I believe most people assume culture imposes that on us. But does it?

I don’t know the answers to these questions. Every day, the news brings me stories about delusional people. It makes me feel that everyone is delusional, in one or more ways. I don’t exclude myself.

On the surface, it appears our delusions come from what we believe. And we often judge people’s actions by what they claim to believe. It’s quite easy to say Krzyzak died because she thought only eating fruit would sustain her. But are beliefs really that powerful? History is full of accounts of famines that suggest something different.

People will eat almost anything when they are starving. Wouldn’t Krzyzak’s body have compelled her to eat something rather than starve to death? Are beliefs more powerful than biological drives?

Eating disorders obviously have a biological connection. But what about something that doesn’t? For instance, conspiracy theories. I believe most people think beliefs are completely derived from thinking and thoughts. What if they’re not? What if people prone to conspiracy theories have a biological reason why they embrace delusional theories?

Could there be something in our biology that predisposes us to be more conservative or liberal? I have no idea. I’m just thinking out loud.

If beliefs can change us, why do so few believers change their beliefs? You’d think beliefs would be open to logic and new evidence. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. Many people tried to convince Krzyzak that her beliefs were wrong with strong evidence, but she wouldn’t change.

There is overwhelming scientific evidence that humans are causing climate change, but millions of people refuse to believe that evidence. Is that a logical decision, or a biological reaction? We often use the term “gut reaction” to explain why we think something.

If we’re genetically programmed to perceive reality in certain ways, can any amount of logic or evidence change a person’s perceptions?

I feel like I have changed my beliefs hundreds of times due to new knowledge, and I know other people who claim their beliefs are open to persuasion. Is that a delusion on my part? A possible answer might be that some people are open to change, and others aren’t. I need to research that. I bet scientists have studied that.

I used to believe we could create a sane society if we all worked together to form an enlightened consensus. I doubt that now. The world seems to be going insane despite what we learn. The only way to have hope is to recognize our own delusions and change the way we act. But is that even possible?

I don’t think so if our delusions are tied to our biology.

JWH