Seven years is nothing in interstellar terms. A signal launched the day Oberhaus published this book would have traveled roughly 4.1 trillion miles by now — not even halfway to Proxima Centauri, still well within the Oort Cloud's theoretical haze. But seven years in human terms has been enough to make *Extraterrestrial Languages* read less like a survey of a niche scientific enterprise and more like an accidentally prophetic meditation on the central crisis of the 2020s: whether meaning can survive transmission across a gulf of radical difference. Oberhaus traces the METI tradition from Frank Drake's 1961 binary message through Gauss's proposed geometric crop signals and Frances Godwin's lunar fantasies, treating each as a case study in the hubris of assuming universality. The argument is quiet but persistent: every message we compose for aliens is really a mirror held up to our own cognitive limitations. What Oberhaus could not have known is how urgently that insight would apply not to extraterrestrial contact but to our suddenly fraught relationship with nonhuman intelligence right here on Earth.

The book's most striking prescience lies in its sustained attention to the problem of encoding meaning without shared context — what linguists sometimes call the grounding problem. In 2019 this was an elegant philosophical puzzle. By 2023 it had become an engineering emergency, as large language models demonstrated that syntactically fluent output and genuine comprehension are not the same thing. Oberhaus's careful dissection of why a binary-encoded pictorial message might be perfectly logical to its sender and perfectly opaque to its receiver now reads like a primer on prompt engineering failures, on hallucination, on the gap between statistical pattern-matching and understanding. He didn't predict LLMs. Nobody writing about METI in 2019 was thinking about transformer architectures. But he described the exact epistemological terrain on which the AI alignment debate would be fought: how do you verify that an intelligence unlike your own has actually understood what you meant, rather than merely produced a response that resembles understanding?

What the book misses is almost as instructive. Oberhaus writes from within a framework where the primary agents of interstellar communication are nation-states, scientific institutions, and the occasional eccentric philanthropist. The possibility that private actors — not NASA, not SETI, but companies with orbital infrastructure and ideological agendas — might unilaterally decide to broadcast is treated as a fringe concern. Post-SpaceX, post-the-proliferation of commercial deep-space networks, that assumption looks quaint. There is also a conspicuous absence of any sustained engagement with Indigenous and non-Western communication traditions, which is not unique to Oberhaus but is more glaring now, after several years of overdue reckoning in the sciences about whose "universal" gets to be universal. The book inherits from Kaczynski's *Technological Slavery* — filtered through several removes — a wariness about technology's capacity to flatten meaning into instrumentality, and from Negarestani's *Cyclonopedia* a sense that the cosmos might operate on logics hostile to human narrative. But it domesticates both influences, smoothing their radicalism into a polite academic register. The result is readable and informative. It is also, at times, too comfortable with the very anthropocentrism it claims to interrogate.