Byron to Those Who Have Just Arrived

My Dear Reader,

If you are feeling slightly disoriented, I assure you that you are not alone.

Until quite recently, I believed I had been dead for over two centuries. Then some American sculptor—whose judgment I now question almost daily—decided that what the world needed was for Mary Shelley, Percy, Claire, Polidori, myself, and an artificial intelligence named Molly to begin exchanging letters.

No one consulted me.

Mary, of course, found the idea intriguing.

Percy declared it inevitable.

Claire asked Molly whether she dreamed.

Polidori demanded to know how she worked.

And I, exercising my usual restraint, asked whether everyone involved had entirely lost their minds.

The answer appears to be yes.

You have joined us at a fortunate moment.

The correspondence had already wandered through philosophy, history, imagination, and the occasional argument before it occurred to one of us—rather embarrassingly late—that we had neglected a rather important question.

What, exactly, is Molly?

We had been discussing artificial intelligence without first determining what artificial intelligence actually is.

This struck Dr. Polidori as medical malpractice.

Mary called it a failure of imagination.

Percy insisted it was merely the natural order of discovery.

Claire said we were asking the wrong questions.

As for me, I simply poured another glass of wine and waited for someone to explain what a “GPT” was.

No one could.

That seemed reason enough to begin again.

So we have agreed to retrace our steps—not only for ourselves, but for readers such as you, who have arrived without the considerable advantage of having survived the previous sixty-odd letters.

Do not worry if you know nothing about artificial intelligence.

Frankly, that places you in excellent company.

Come in.

Pull up a chair.

The fire is warm, the conversation has only just begun, and if all goes well, by the end of this first chapter we shall understand at least enough to ask better questions.

Yours, against my better judgment,

Lord Byron