This book is a monster. It has been stitched together from various disciplines: law and humanities, law and technology, science fiction studies and science technology and society. Beamed into science fiction, it would resemble something from a B-grade matinee – a rubber-suited mismatch of eyes, limbs, and antennae. However, as more sophisticated science fic-tions show, even BEMs (bug-eye monsters) (the derogatory term for such creatures) have purpose and humanity. Indeed, they can be – and often are – more human than the ‘humans’. This monster of a book has a purpose and humanity. Its purpose is to chart a way to live well within the total triumph of technology.

Law is often called upon to humanise technology. A current manifestation is the call for law in response to the ‘disruption’ of automated road vehicles. Within this political truism that circulates endlessly within the politico-legal networks of the West, a specific set of concepts and relationships are projected. This technology that needs law is seen as primal, as something non-human and threatening. It is a monster. Humanity is located elsewhere. It is conceived as not technological, yet vulnerable to technology's monstrous pursuits. Mediating between technology and humanity is law. Law saves. It is an instrument through which technology is collared and made to serve human ends. Two observations suggest themselves. The first is that these characterisations of technology, humanity, and law have a pedigree. They belong to none other than Frankenstein, that quintessential modern myth in which an amoral, asocial techno-thing threatens and kills humans. It is a story that calls out for a saving supplement to intervene between creator and monster. The second is a fundamental irony. The law that saves humanity from technology is tool-like. It is a law that is instrumental, plastic, and capable of being called upon and fashioned towards any end. Following Carl Schmitt, this quintessential modern law – empty, yet all-powerful – can be seen clearly: it is law as technology. From this ironic vantage point, the monster can be seen as a trickster, and the political truism of law called upon to humanise technology implodes. Humanity is not saved from technology by law; rather, the technical, tool-like nature of law reveals humanity as given over to technology. What is left after this is not ‘technology’, ‘humanity’, and ‘law’, but a monstrous hybrid figure, the revelation that modern humanity and modern law are thoroughly technological.