In her column “Stanford TBR” (to be read), Cate Burtner recommends books that would resonate with the Stanford community — a reading list compiled for outside the classroom.

Editor’s Note: This article is a review and includes subjective thoughts, opinions and critiques.

“Ripe” by Sarah Rose Etter wastes no time in plunging its readers into its imagined Silicon Valley hellscape. Our protagonist, Cassie, works for the cutthroat tech start-up VOYAGER, where her commute, work assignments and office space are all designed to maximize productivity at the expense of wellbeing. Meanwhile, the world outside her office is a smoke-filled and desolate pseudo-dystopia, and Cassie’s internal world is haunted by a literal black hole that looms with her every action. All this adds up to a bleak perspective on Silicon Valley, its workers and the technocratic Bay Area culture we inhabit — written in the form of a biting satire with lush, visceral prose. 

Each chapter opens with a different word and its definition. One which I found particularly fascinating was Etter’s use of the word “memory.” “Our brains mirror technology,” Cassie narrates. “Certain moments are overridden by bigger, more important memories. Encoding, storage, retrieval. There is only so much room in the mind.” Cassie’s idea that our minds “mirror technology” demonstrates that she thinks humans are deeply attached to tech. As the novel progresses, however, this utopian portrayal of our unwavering connection to technology becomes disturbing. After all, our minds came before technology, so how can we be mirroring it? 

The novel delves into the horrific aspects of this view on humanity and technology through its depiction of the centrality of tech jobs to the novel’s characters. For Cassie, work not only consumes her life, but her entire sense of self. She refers to her “fake self,” who exists at work and completes her ethically dubious tasks, yet she does not mention a “real self” taking the wheel. Readers have to face that she is her fake self all the time — and so is everyone else at her workplace. 

This exaggerated portrayal of Silicon Valley tech workers is extended through the novel’s exploration of ignorance and privilege within the industry. Throughout the story, headlines about a virus spreading through Europe, the worsening housing crisis and raging wildfires are ignored by all of the “Believers” (Cassie’s term for people who buy into the tech scene). There are frightening parallels between their ideology and techno-utopian viewpoints we see often in our daily lives. When Cassie asks about the virus at a dinner party, she is met with the response, “I mean … it’s not here so what’s the point?” She is also struck by the “sheer number” of people experiencing homelessness. “[It] paralyzes me. Most of the time I look away.” 

However, the novel is more nuanced than just a sweeping critique of Silicon Valley and tech culture; it is by no means a call to abolish the computer science major, but rather an exaggeration of the tech industry’s faults and a satire on how damaging the industry and its values could become for the human psyche.

Etter’s ominous vision of Silicon Valley is enriched by her world building and artful, dark use of language. For instance, as a VOYAGER employee, Cassie has an inside look into using color to manipulate users. She draws a connection between her work and nature: “Blue is the color of serenity, poetry, sincerity and the hue tricks us, pulls us back to our screens, again and again. We are drawn to that new blue, the blue of a wide manufactured sky, and endless, false sea.” Etter manages to use the diction of a tech dystopia while including awe-inspiring descriptions of natural phenomena, solidifying the book’s place as a work of surrealist fiction.

The abstract portrayal of Cassie’s mental illness is also central to this setting-driven novel. Cassie’s mental illness is widely speculated upon in the audience response to “Ripe” — the general consensus is that she is suffering from depression, symbolized through a black hole that follows her everywhere. I personally think that this is an overly simplistic label for the novel’s abstract, surreal elements.

Slapping a diagnosis onto fictional characters can be reductive to a story; while I do agree that mental health issues are essential to the novel, I take issue with the popular vein of book criticism that romanticizes depression and turns it into a quirky and relatable character trait. The text itself does not do this, so why are book reviewers? I believe this marks a larger problem with regard to how readers understand fictionalized representations of mental illness. Mental illness in “Ripe” is more complex than a game of “tag yourself,” and serves a much larger function than shock value. Instead, it shows us what can happen when an unhealthy mindset consumes your being, and your genuine self is lost along the way.

At its core, “Ripe” highlights the fact that the Bay Area is “a city of extremes.” It is important for us as students living in the Stanford bubble to reflect on that reality. Tech is in the air in Silicon Valley, but being at Stanford, we sometimes lose sight of our contexts. While reading “Ripe” will not put you in an optimistic mood or help you fall in love with the Bay Area, it is an interesting novel that is ripe with commentary. “Ripe” managed to satisfy my appetite for a biting satire on everything that I’ve noticed about the Bay Area but have been unsure how to say out loud.