From the London Review of Books, Vol. 47 No. 23 · 25 December 2025:
The Thinking Machine: Jensen Huang, Nvidia and the World’s Most Coveted Microchip
by Stephen Witt.
Bodley Head, 248 pp., £25, April, 978 1 84792 827 6 The Nvidia Way: Jensen Huang and the Making of a Tech Giant
by Tae Kim.
Norton, 261 pp., £25, December 2024, 978 1 324 08671 0 Empire of AI: Inside the Reckless Race for Total Domination
by Karen Hao.
Allen Lane, 482 pp., £25, May, 978 0 241 67892 3
Supremacy: AI, ChatGPT and the Race that Will Change the World by Parmy Olson.
Pan Macmillan, 319 pp., £10.99, July, 978 1 0350 3824 4 The tulip bubble is the most famous financial bubble in history, but as historical
examples go it is also, in one crucial respect, misleading. That’s
because anyone can see the flagrant irrationality which was at work. At
peak tulip madness in 1637, rare bulbs were so expensive that a single
one was worth as much as a fancy canalside house in Amsterdam. You don’t
have to be Warren Buffett to see that the disconnect between price and
value was based on delusional thinking.
Most
bubbles aren’t like that. Even the South Sea Bubble, the event which
gave its name to financial bubbles, had an underlying rationale: who can
deny that the expansion of global networks of trade and capital turned
out to be a vitally important and vastly lucrative event? Even if all
the investors in the original bubble – including Isaac Newton, who
realised it was a bubble, but got caught up in the excitement anyway –
lost their shirts. The historical pattern is typically that a big,
genuine innovation is spotted on the horizon. Money floods in to take
advantage. Too much money. The flow of capital is so great that it is
impossible to allocate it correctly, and distinctions disappear between
what is likely and what is impossible, what is prudent and what is
reckless, what might happen and what never could. After the flood of
money, the doubts; after the doubts, the crash; and after the crash, the
gradual emergence of the phenomenon that got all the speculators so
excited in the first place. It happened with the South Sea Bubble, with
the many railway manias of the mid-19th century, with the electrification mania of fifty years later and with the dot-com bubble at the turn of this century.
That is where we are now with AI.
In the deep historical past of 2018, Apple became the first public
company in the world to have a market capitalisation of more than a
trillion dollars. Today, each of the ten biggest companies in the world
is worth more than $1 trillion. Only one of them, the Saudi oil
monopoly, Aramco, has nothing to do with the future value of AI.
The top company, Nvidia, is worth $4.45 trillion. Not by coincidence,
Nvidia shares are the purest bet you can make on the impact of AI.
The leading firms are lending money to one another in circular
patterns, propping up turnover and valuations. Colossal amounts of money
are pouring in. Is it a bubble? Of course it’s a bubble. The salient
questions are how we got here, and what happens next.
How
did we get here? That story is among other things a narrative about two
men, who gratifyingly correspond to the two main character types of the
tech age: academically overachieving immigrant (Elon Musk, Sergey Brin,
Sundar Pichai, Satya Nadella) and US-born
college dropout (Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerberg). Companies
founded or run by such men are the first, second, third, fourth, fifth
and seventh most valuable in the world. Their combined value is $20.94
trillion – one sixth of the entire world economy.
Let’s
begin in medias res. In the spring of 1993, three nerds visited a
lawyer in Silicon Valley with the intention of setting up a company to
make computer chips. The men were Curtis Priem, Chris Malachowsky and
the person they had chosen to be their CEO,
Jensen Huang, a Taiwanese-born electrical engineer with a talent for
management and business. Malachowsky and Priem, according to Stephen
Witt’s Thinking Machine, had
complementary skills – they were, respectively, an architect and a chip
mechanic. They wanted to make a new kind of chip, optimised for a
rapidly growing sector: video games. Their employer, the large chip
company LSI Logic, didn’t like the idea, so
the three men cooked up a business plan, working mainly in a branch of
the 24-hour chain restaurant Denny’s that was accessorised with bullet
holes from drive-by shootings. Huang didn’t think the new company was
worth launching until they had a credible chance of making $50 million a
year in revenue. Fiddling with spreadsheets over long sessions at
Denny’s, he eventually made the numbers add up. The three amigos went to
see Jim Gaither, a lawyer well known in the Valley. Gaither filled out
the paperwork, with the company’s name left as NV,
for New Venture. Malachowsky and Priem were entertained by that: they
had been playing around with company names that suggested their chip
would leave competitors sick with envy. The coincidence was too good to
resist. They decided to call their company Nvision. When the lawyer
checked, it turned out that Nvision was already taken. They chose a
backup: Nvidia.
Good choice of CEO, good choice of name. A third of a century later, Huang is the longest-serving CEO
in the industry and Nvidia is the most valuable company in the world.
Nvidia’s share of global stock market value is historically
unprecedented: its shares make up a greater part of global indices than
the entire UK stock market.
Huang had a hard start in life. He arrived in the US
in 1973 aged nine, small for his age and not speaking much English. His
parents, Hokkien-speakers from Tainan who had emigrated to Bangkok, had
attempted to teach him and his brothers English by making them learn
ten words a day, chosen at random from the dictionary. They sent Huang
to the Oneida Baptist Institute in Kentucky under the mistaken
impression it was a posh boarding school. In fact, it was a reform
school for unruly boys whom the regular US
education system couldn’t handle. Huang’s academic abilities meant that
he was put in a class with boys a year older. If you were designing a
formula to make a child a target for bullying, you couldn’t do much
better. On his first night, Huang’s roommate pulled up his shirt to show
him the scars he had accumulated from knife wounds. The newcomer, who
stayed at school during the holidays because he had nowhere else to go,
was given the job of cleaning the toilets.
This
might sound like a deprivation narrative. Huang doesn’t tell it that
way. He taught his roommate to read, and his roommate taught him to do
push-ups – a hundred a day. The bullies stopped trying to tip him off
the rope bridge he had to cross on the way to school. Huang says it
toughened him up and, according to Witt, in a commencement speech in
2020 he ‘said that his time at the school was one of the best things
ever to happen to him’. After two years in Kentucky, Huang moved to
Oregon, where his parents had immigrated. He went to school and
university and married there, before starting his career at the Silicon
Valley microchip design company AMD. Many promotions and one job move later he met Malachowsky and Priem through LSI.
The
trio’s new venture was far from an overnight success. There were at
least 35 companies competing to build a specialised chip for video
games, and it was evident that most of them were going to fail. When
Nvidia’s first chip, the NV1, bombed, it
looked as if their company was going to be one of them. ‘We missed
everything,’ Huang later said. ‘Every single decision we made was
wrong.’ He laid off most of the company’s employees and bet the shop on
the successful design of their next chip, the NV3. (The NV2
was cancelled before launch.) Rather than build the chip the
traditional way – they couldn’t do that, because they would have run out
of money before it was finished – they used an emulator, a machine
designed to mimic chip designs in software rather than silicon, to test
it virtually. When the first real NV3 chip
arrived, there was a crucial test. If even one of the 3.5 million
transistors on the chip was flawed, it would be dead on arrival and
Nvidia would disappear. It wasn’t and it didn’t. ‘To this day we are the
largest user of emulators in the world,’ Huang says.
By
this point, in 1997, Huang had made two big bets: one on video games’
insatiable demand for better graphics, and one on the emulator. Those
successful bets kept Nvidia alive, and growing. He would make three
more. The first was on a type of computing known as parallel processing.
A traditional computer chip, such as the one inside the laptop I’m
using, runs with a Central Processing Unit, a CPU,
which works through computations in sequence. As chips have grown in
power, the length and complexity of the computations have too. But chips
had become so small that they were starting to run up against the laws
of physics.
Parallel processing instead
performs calculations not in sequence, but simultaneously. Rather than
working through one huge calculation, it works through lots of small
calculations at the same time. On YouTube, you can find the MythBusters,
an excitable duo of American science-explainers, demonstrating the
difference at an Nvidia conference in 2008 (Huang commissioned the
demo). The MythBusters set up a robot gun to fire paintballs at a
canvas. The first run works like a CPU: the
robot fires a rapid sequence of blue paintballs, adjusting its aim after
every shot to paint a smiley face. It takes about thirty seconds. Then
they set up another robot gun, this time shooting 1100 paintballs
simultaneously. The guns cough and in a fraction of a second – eighty
milliseconds, to be precise – on the canvas appears a paintball copy of
the Mona Lisa. The instant Mona Lisa is a visual metaphor for the way
the new chips worked: instead of huge calculations done in sequence, a
vast number of short calculations done at the same time. Parallel
processing.
The video games industry
loved the new chips, and demanded an update every six months, to render
the ever more complex visual environments inside their games. Keeping up
with that appetite was demanding and expensive, but it took Nvidia to a
leading position in the chip industry. In The Nvidia Way,
Tae Kim describes Huang’s relentlessness in keeping ahead of the
competition. ‘The number one feature of any product is the schedule,’
Huang said, marking a difference between engineering elegance and
Nvidia’s emphasis on getting-it-done, getting-it-shipped. The company’s
chips were by this point so powerful that it began to seem bizarre that
their only use was in allowing people to go online and shoot one another
in increasingly complex and well-rendered sci-fi settings. At this
point, Huang made another of his bets. He set Nvidia to develop a new
kind of chip architecture, which he gave the deliberately obscure name CUDA, an acronym of Compute Unified Device Architecture.
The
term doesn’t really mean anything, which was part of the point – Huang
didn’t want the competition to realise what Nvidia was doing. Its
engineers were developing a new kind of architecture for a new kind of
customer: ‘doctors, astronomers, geologists and other scientists –
highly educated academic specialists who were skilled in specific
domains, but who maybe didn’t know how to code at all’. In Witt’s
metaphor, the CPU is like a kitchen knife, ‘a
beautiful multipurpose tool that can make any kind of cut. It can
julienne, batonnet, chop, slice, dice, or hack ... but the knife can only ever chop one vegetable at a time.’ Nvidia’s processor, which the company was now calling a GPU,
or Graphics Processing Unit, was more like a food processor: ‘loud,
indelicate and power-intensive. It cannot chiffonade tarragon or score a
crosshatch on a tube of calamari. But to mince a bunch of vegetables
quickly, the GPU is the tool.’ The CUDA
architecture took this tool and repurposed it for a new audience. In
effect, gamers were paying for the chip development costs of the
scientific users who Huang believed would show up. It was a version of
‘if you build it, they will come.’
They didn’t, or not in sufficient numbers to make CUDA
a success. Demand failed to surge, and so did the company’s share
price. There are many examples in the history of technology of an
invention waiting for a ‘killer app’ – an application or function that
suddenly gives the invention an irresistibly compelling purpose. The
killer app for the PC, for instance, was the
spreadsheet: overnight, a new technology that allowed a user to
experiment with numbers and parameters and see what would happen if you
tweaked a and b with the intention of arriving at z. It’s no
exaggeration to say that spreadsheets remade capitalism in the 1980s by
making it easy to run multiple alternative business scenarios and
continue until you’d come up with something that made sense. Nvidia’s
amazing new chips and their CUDA architecture were waiting for a killer app.
Salvation
arrived in the form of an unfashionable branch of computing called
neural networks. This was a field dedicated to the idea that computers
could copy the structure of the brain by creating artificial neurons and
connecting them in networks. Early neural networks were trained on
labelled datasets, where the answer for each image was known in advance.
The network made a prediction, compared it with the correct label, and
adjusted itself using an algorithm called backpropagation. The major
breakthrough came when researchers learned how to train networks with
many layers of artificial neurons – ‘deep learning’. These deep networks
could detect increasingly complex patterns in data, which led to
dramatic progress in image recognition and many other areas. A computer
scientist at Google, for instance,
fed
their deep learning net a random sampling of ten million still images
taken from YouTube and let it decide which patterns occurred frequently
enough for the net to ‘remember’ them. The model was exposed to so many
videos of cats that it independently developed a composite image of a
cat’s face without human intervention. From then on, it could reliably
identify cats in images that were not part of its training set.
Three
things came together: algorithms, datasets and hardware. Computer
scientists had developed the first two. It was Nvidia’s chips that
brought the third – because, as it happened, the parallel processing of
these chips was perfectly adapted for the new El Dorado of deep
learning. Multiple calculations happening at the same time was exactly
what constituted neural nets. These neural nets are the foundational
technology for what was once called machine learning and is now
generally referred to as AI. (Machine learning is a more accurate and helpful term, in my view, but that’s a topic for another day.)
The head scientist at Nvidia was a man called David Kirk. As he told Witt,
‘with parallel computing, it really took us a fair amount of convincing to talk Jensen into it ... Same with CUDA. We really had to make the business case.’ But with AI, Huang experienced a Damascene epiphany. ‘He got it immediately, before anybody ... He was the first to see what it could be. He really was the first.’
Huang
reasoned that if neural nets could solve visual learning, they had the
potential to solve everything else too. He sent out a company-wide email
one Friday saying that Nvidia were no longer a graphics company. One
colleague recalled: ‘By Monday morning, we were an AI
company. Literally, it was that fast.’ That was in 2014. It was the
fifth and most successful of Huang’s five bets, and the one that has
made Nvidia the planet-bestriding colossus it is today.
Soon after this, if you were a nerd or nerd-adjacent, you started to hear about AI.
Talking to people who knew more than I did about technology and
economics, I would often ask questions along the lines of ‘What’s next?’
or ‘What’s the next big thing?’ and increasingly the answer that came
back would involve AI. I have a particular
memory of talking to an astute tech investor a few days after the Brexit
vote, and asking him what he thought was going to happen. I’ve
forgotten the details of his answer – we were drinking martinis – but
the gist was AI advances in China. What struck me most was that I was asking about Brexit, but he regarded AI as so much more important that it didn’t even occur to him that was what I meant....