maggie and milly and molly and may went down to the beach(to play one day)
This is a difficult book to rate or review, not least because I generally have a hate-hate relationship with "self-help" books, and this one pushes too many of my wrong buttons (if it is indeed a book, and not purely a giant informercial for the author's "Natural Psychology").
But ...
It also provided a enough "aha" moments, and insight into some things that have been bugging me for a while, for me to give it a high rating, regardless of its many, many flaws.
The constant refrain of the book is that smart people are really, really good at thinking themselves into all sorts of traps, and really, really bad at being smart about the challenges of being smart. Maisel sets out fifteen key areas in which this often applies, and suggests a variety of techniques for addressing them.
I'm not entirely convinced by many of the proposed solutions (and got increasingly more irritated by the constant framing of them in terms of what "an adherent of natural psychology" would do), but simply providing a framework to notice and name a lot of bad thinking traps — many of which I'm well aware of falling into regularly, but have never really been able to identify with this level of clarity — is (hopefully) of sufficiently high value on its own.
Works best if read very slowly. Preferably with a week or so between each column. And ideally whilst the topic being talked about is still fresh. Not so good years later in book form.
This is somewhere between Bernie Rhodenbarr and Evan Michael Tanner, with a likable rogue getting into ever increasingly ludicrous situations. This isn't as well drawn as either of those, but there's enough promise (and enough laugh out loud moments) for me to check out more of the series.
I need to get better at abandoning books like this more quickly. With a single author I can usually tell quite quickly that there's little point in continuing, but with collections like this I keep thinking that there must be someone coming up Real Soon Now with some insight, or something interesting to say.
I love the idea of this book — looking at issues of nationality and statehood through the lens of football:“In an era when politics means less and less, particularly in more industrialized countries, when fewer and fewer people turn out to vote, sport crystallises the notion of a nation perhaps more than anything else. ...
As the world's most popular team sport, football keeps alive the idea of a national identity undefined by political borders better than most. The notion of Englishness and Scottishness, for example, has been kept alive by sport as much as anything else since the Act of the Union in 1707. In places where identity is slowly starting to mean less and less, in an age of globalization where satellite TV is watering down local sports in favour of global brands, some peoples are trying to keep alive an identity that is being lost, through football.”
The introduction (which takes up approximately a quarter of the book) makes for a fairly good 6000 word essay on the topic, going significantly further than (and taking issue with) Bertrand Russell's [b:In Praise of Idleness|135742|In Praise of Idleness And Other Essays|Bertrand Russell|http://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1172071900s/135742.jpg|1314555] by insisting on a distinction between slacking (which is simply the work of avoiding work) and idling (a primary state by itself, not defined solely as the negation of work). However, the main body of the book (the glossary) is rather dull and tedious. Stick instead to [b:How to Be Idle|623922|How to Be Idle|Tom Hodgkinson|http://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1349057095s/623922.jpg|1768914] (by Tom Hodgkinson, to whom this book is dedicated.)
Started well, but quickly descended into farce (and not the good kind). By two-thirds through I'd lost all interest.
I love the concept of this book (not so much the anti-Narnia of Pullman as a 90º twist on it); I love the beautiful writing (with words that “did not pretend to be simple, but put on their full armor and rode out with colors flying.”); I love how well it achieves hiding the story for adults inside the story for children; I love how complex the main character is compared to her equivalents in most similar books (and how she's a rejection of the Chosen One trope); I love so many of the delightful concepts sprinkled throughout (though I feel sorry for the translators who'll need to handle a character who knows nothing about anything outside the A–L volume of the encyclopedia). But despite all this, the book was a struggle, largely because the story itself just didn't grip me.
The book opens with Newsom, then mayor of San Francisco, meeting with Toomas Hendrik Ilves, president of Estonia. Newsom is attempting to impress Ilves with details of some of the recent technology initiatives they've instituted, and is surprised to discover that Estonia has already had these things (and many more besides) for a long time. “Americans tend to think of San Francisco as Tomorrowland, on the cutting edge of technology in government, but in fact, we were years behind”, he realises.
This is a short, tightly written, largely persuasive essay on why lying (fairly narrowly defined as intentionally misleading someone who expects honest communication from you) is a Bad Thing — including (and specifically dealing with) the classic “Do you happen to have any Jews hiding in your attic?” and “Does this make me look fat?” cases. The key “the obvious isn't always apparent” a-ha moment for me was that when we choose to hide the truth from someone, believing it to be for their benefit, we are explicitly denying them access to reality, in a stunningly arrogant infringement on their freedom.
This gets a bonus ★ for raising some interesting questions occasionally, but the delivery is terrible. The comparison of Google's rise to power with that of Julius Caesar is an evocative one, though underdeveloped. Similarly, the thesis that by doing nothing (or, too little too late) we allowed car companies and airlines to shape our societies much more for their own benefits than for ours during the 20th Century, and need to be very careful not to let technology companies do likewise in the 21st, is an intriguing one (as in both cases the results aren't necessarily obviously bad for us, just perhaps not as good as they could/should be). But the descriptions of the problem seem slightly off-key, and the proposed solutions are entirely unconvincing.
I expected to hate this, but it was surprisingly good. Yes, it's incredibly shallow, and almost entirely about the author's own experiences, and, yes, the examples are painfully detailed at times ... but somehow it works, and gives a plausible outline of how much it's possible to pick up in 20 hours of deliberate learning (Spoiler: much less than enough to consider yourself skilled, but much more than most people expect).
This performs the rather interesting of trick of being simultaneously too simplistic and too academic. Useful as a general introduction for now, when there's so little available on the topic, but there's a much better version waiting to be written.
Some nice twists on the classic formula. Mason and Tragg get to play together more than usual at the start, but the highlight is when Mason does his usual trick of convincing everyone that someone other than his client is much more likely to have done it ... and then proceeds to defend that person at the subsequent trial..
Somewhat dated by now, and — rather obviously — hugely oversimplified (it's the 11 volume, 10,000 page, “Story of Civilisation” set condensed into barely 100 pages), but it does a masterful job of presenting a broad sweep of not just the "facts" of history, but a lifetime's worth of insight, wrapped in many delightful turns of phrase.