The Nobel-winning author, whose newest book is out this week, discusses work by a few of her favorite writers. The Nobel Prize winner Olga Tokarczuk's fiction is known for its interest in the porosity of boundaries--between nations, between ethnicities, between fiction and reality, consciousness and dreams. As her novels and stories stage the constant flux of national borders, particularly in Eastern Europe (Tokarczuk is Polish), they also delight in supernatural and science-fictional elements. In " House of Day, House of Night," out from Riverhead this week, she writes, "All over the world, wherever people are sleeping, small, jumbled worlds are flaring up in their heads, growing over reality like scar tissue." Not long ago, Tokarczuk sent us some remarks about a few of her favorite sci-fi and speculative-fiction writers, whose books mix the fantastical and the prosaic masterfully.

Six new cookbooks bring stellar dishes--and cultures--from around the world into your kitchen. All products featured on WIRED are independently selected by our editors. However, we may receive compensation from retailers and/or from purchases of products through these links. Think about how difficult cooking from a cookbook from another culture was as little as 10 years ago. Once in a while, you could get your hands on a standout, but the food you could make with it could feel like a compromise with too many substitutions and ingredients you just couldn't find without great effort, or at all.

The author of "The Eleventh Hour" looks back on a few works--by Mikhail Bulgakov, Franz Kafka, Voltaire, and E. M. Forster--that have helped him craft his own. Salman Rushdie prefers not to immerse himself in other people's writing when he is working on his own. "When I'm writing fiction, I tend not to read fiction. I actually don't want other people's voices to sneak into my head," Rushdie said recently. That's not to say that other writers' books aren't an important part of his process--posing questions, providing instruction, and offering models of characters.

The staff never ask what I want. They simply say, "Mixed vegetable fried rice?", take the container I pass over the counter and return it filled with steaming goodness. Years ago, when I lived in London, I regularly visited a bookshop tucked away in a court off the Charing Cross Road. Through repeated purchases, the manager grew familiar with my obscure collecting habits. When, as part of a job lot, he acquired a vintage magazine he thought I would like, he saved it behind his counter and threw it in with my next purchase for free. The customer experience involving the lowest possible effort is one in which you predict what the customer wants, before they even ask.

One of the great paradoxes of digital life – understood and exploited by the tech giants – is that we never do what we say. Poll after poll in the past few years has found that people are worried about online privacy and do not trust big tech firms with their data. But they carry on clicking and sharing and posting, preferring speed and convenience above all else. Last year was Silicon Valley's annus horribilis: a year of bots, Russian meddling, sexism, monopolistic practice and tax-minimising. But I think 2018 might be worse still: the year of the neo-luddite, when anti-tech words turn into deeds. The caricature of machine-wrecking mobs doesn't capture our new approach to tech.

When Haldeman returned from Vietnam, with a Purple Heart for the wounds he had suffered, he wrote a story about a pointless conflict that seems as if it will never end. It was set in space, and the enemies were aliens, but 18 publishers decided it was too close to home before St Martin's Press took a gamble. The book that "nobody wants to read" went on to win many prizes. It's not perfect - it's hard to take seriously a future in which hetereosexuality is a perversion - but the anti-war message is as powerful as ever. Known for his intricate short stories and critically acclaimed mountaineering novel Climbers, Harrison cut his teeth on SF. In typical fashion, he writes space opera better than many who write only in the genre. For all its star travel and alien artefacts, scuzzy 25th-century spaceports and drop-out space pilots, Light is actually about twisting three plotlines as near as possible to snapping point. This is as close as SF gets to literary fiction, and literary fiction gets to SF. Jon Courtenay Grimwood Buy this book at the Guardian bookshop Amateur stonemason, waterbed designer, reformed socialist, nudist, militarist and McCarthyite, Heinlein is one of the most interesting and irritating figures in American science fiction.

Greg Linden may not be a household name, but he changed the way we interact with culture and transformed retail forever. An engineer at Amazon in the late 1990s, Linden worked on a curious problem: how to recommend books without human intervention. Until then Amazon relied on editors who wrote hundreds of reviews every year. It was a costly and time-consuming process. Automating recommendations proved trickier than anyone expected.