There’s a lot of thought-provoking discussion I’ve heard today in which smart people theorized that books of the future will never be finished; we will be able to change them, and chunk them, and slice them and dice them, and read them upside-down, in space. They will sing to you in your sleep. It will become impossible to track circs. But most importantly, they will never end.

Having known a lot of fiction writers in my life, all of whom are capable of toddler-level tantrums about how haaaaaaard it is to finish a book properly, this is making me suspect that all current disruptions in the book industry are a conspiracy by frustrated novelists who are sick of having to come up with good endings.