I’ve read tons of books that contain huge swaths of authorial intervention… hey, it’s better than doing the hard work of making your characters fit into the story naturally. The Greeks called it Deus ex Machina. It always bugs the heck outta me when I run across a character in a book who is suddenly able to do something simply because the author decides it’s necessary but without actually doing the work of making it plausible.
Is Frankenstein’s monster the result of AI? Well… you decide.
Mmmmmm… Pringles. Now my workout is ruined by the urge to buy a can of these things and down them in one sitting. I’m guessing that if you’re a 1950s girl detective, potato chips in a can are a true, almost magical, marvel.