Review: Your Digital Afterlife

You wait and wait for a great book to come along. Unlike buses, great books don’t come along four at once. They are as single as they are singular. Today’s great book is Your Digital Afterlife.

There have been sporadic lightweight journalistic treatments of the growing importance of making provision for our virtual assets. I last had a look at some as far back, I am now ashamed to say, as November 2009. But, I have just learned, I belong to the nether end of the Boomer generation (46-64 yrs), and we Boomers are far from internet-savvy. Compared with the Millennial Generation (18-29 yrs), 80% of whom texted in the last 24 hrs and 20% of whom have posted videos of themselves online, just 35% of my crew texted in the last 24 hrs and but 2% of us have uploaded videos. Yikes the world is moving from physical to virtual very fast indeed.

Where all assets were once physical, except for lingering memories, now they are increasingly digital. The most obvious examples are letters, documents, music and photos. There’s more.

“Will future generations have less attachment to physical objects?” What an interesting idea. Physical objects are unique, but “one of the unique features of digital things is that two exact copies can exist or one copy can be accessed in multiple places at one time.” Had we only physical assets, they’d be divvied up, some thrown away, and our identity fragmented. Digital assets can be bequeathed complete – to more than just one person.

The law presently regards assets only as physical assets. How do we make sure these endure?

Your Digital Afterlife wants to persuade us of the necessity so, first, it makes the case. Our digital assets are identity-defining: “All this content forms a rich collection that reflects who you are and what you think.” Much of this content may be interactive – comments on your Facebook status “reflecting on your identity”; your comments on others. Future generations will be able to see us as we saw ourselves and as others saw us.

So rich is this content that there’s now “a huge opportunity that’s never been available to ordinary people – a permanent archive of your life that could exist beyond your physical life.” So great is the amount of our content that the authors call on us to curate it. With photos, for example, don’t just leave 10,000 – no one will know where to start. Whittle them down, grade them and tag them.

This is all so new that “as a society we have not thought through the ramifications or considered what will happen to this digital content.”

What’s more, a great deal of this digital content does not reside in our devices (computer, phone, etc), it is stored by businesses which can deny others access – or go bust. What’s more, most of these companies’ terms of service do not make provision for our content on our death. They never thought of it. Here is a matter which needs urgently to be addressed: “Ideally services that host digital content would have an industry-standard or legally enforced way to deal with the death of their members.” It will happen.

In the meantime, we need to appoint a digital executor with the technical nous to enable them to gather up and pass on our digital legacy – having, perhaps, got rid of specified content we’d rather others knew nothing of.

To enable our digital executor to do his or her work, we need to make an inventory of our devices and accounts – on a spreadsheet we can download from the YourDigitalAfterlife website. Meticulous instructions are given.

The book concludes with a speculative look into the future. Is it possible, they wonder, if, one day, artificial intelligence will become so sophisticated that it will be possible to process our store of digital content and create a humanoid robot in our own image?

Your Digital Afterlife is beautifully written – clear, jargon-free, accessible. Its tone is just right, too, companionable, not jokey and joshing nor loftily authoritative. It is both philosophical and practical. It has opened up a new and important field to me.

I have given you but a taster. I urge you to buy it.

And don’t hold your breath for the next book review on this blog.

Your Digital Afterlife

I bought a copy of Your Digital Afterlife as soon as it came out, some weeks ago. Since then, it has been sitting on the bookshelf reproachful and unread — the next worst thing to a stack of ironing. I’ve just made a start. It’s blinking BRILLIANT.

It’s an important area this. Where we once possessed only physical things we now possess a great many digital assets which, when we die, will become inaccessible unless we make arrangements to pass them on.

I’ll write more about this excellent book next week. Until then, savour this fantastic website, DigitalEstateServices.com. I wish I’d been able to recommend it when I met a just-bereaved widow whose husband’s computer carried all his financial records. It was password protected, as, of course, were all his accounts. I dread to think how much she was unable to lay claim to. The good people at DigitalEstateServices.com could have unlocked it all for her.

Find the Your Digital Afterlife website here.

Find DigitalEstateServices.com here.

Digital floorboards

My friend Simon likes to say that no one’s internet history bears close inspection. He’s speaking for himself, mostly; he’s always flirted more dangerously with depravity than me. My history is saturated with death. Of its concomitant, sex, not a jot. Yes. How boring.

It has not always been so. When my ex-wife got inside my computer she discovered correspondence which expedited the divorce. I was shocked by the invasion and delighted with the outcome.

But that’s another story.

What happens if you drop dead in, say, the next five minutes? Or tonight? Or even, to help you get used to the idea, tomorrow morning at 11.43? What happens to all your cyberstuff?

There are two sides to this. First, while your grievers are buoying themselves up by bravely singing along with Celine – “Near, far, wherever you are / I believe that the heart does go on” – it won’t be just your heart. So too will your email account, Facebook page and other digital testimony of your extantcy. You’ll want them to be able to stop the banter, spare themselves, terminate you.

Second, you’ll want them to be able to access accounts, either to close them or get their hands on the money and the digital media and whatever else you’ve got out there of monetary or sentimental value stored in a cloud server somewhere.

They won’t be able to do either unless they know, 1) what to look for, and 2) what the passwords are.

I remember sitting with a newly widowed widow who couldn’t begin to start winding up her husband’s affairs because she could even get into his computer. The password for that, together with all the others inside, died with him. Heaven only knows what she did in the end. Did she ever discover where all his funds were? I don’t know that she did.

There may be some passwords you want to die with you—even if you can’t be prosecuted posthumously. But there are others which you will want to be available. Where can you keep them where no one can find them until the undertaker’s men come to zip you up in a bag and clonk you downstairs?

Awareness of all this is growing—as it needs to. And the answer is arriving—you guessed it—online. Of all the solution providers out there, the one I like best is offered by Deathswitch. Once you’ve stored all your secrets with them they prod you at intervals decided by you: they send you an email to which you must reply. If you don’t, they e-poke you a couple of times. If you still show no signs of life they decide you are definitely dead and contact those people you have designated with messages you composed while still alive.

Google Deathswitch and you’ll find lots of stuff about what they, and others like them, do. There’s a piece in the Guardian here. And the Telegraph here.

They all draw attention to the two major drawbacks of putting all your eggs in one cyberbasket. First, what if the website dies first? Second, what if it gets hacked?

Progress is a wonderful thing. But let’s hear it for floorboards. Even after all these years, hard to beat.