Book 12 of 52: "David and Goliath", by Malcolm Gladwell

Ever since I picked up Malcolm Gladwell's Tipping Point, I've always been a fan of his books.  I've read Blink, Outliers, and What the Dog Saw, so when I saw that he had a new book, it was an easy decision for me to add it to my list.

Once again, Gladwell tackles some of our assumptions about how the world should logically work.  In the typical "David and Goliath" story, the titular tale of this book, a tiny underdog goes against overwhelming odds - and somehow perseveres and manages to conquer.  What an unexpected result!

However, is David's win over Goliath really such a surprise?  Gladwell argues that it is not!  Indeed, in the ancient world, stone-slingers (David) were typically used as the natural military counter to slow, heavy infantry (Goliath).  Why would anyone be surprised by David's win?

Indeed, as Gladwell goes on to show through a plethora of other examples, many times the individual that we regard as the underdog turns out to have at least one, sometimes several crucial advantages.  Gladwell emphasizes the idea of "near misses" versus "remote misses".  For example, when talking about a bombing, a near miss might leave an individual wounded.  But when an individual experiences a remote miss, they are not only unharmed by the bomb - but also, since the bomb missed the first time, that individual starts feeling invincible, and is more likely to take on additional risk in the future!

It is this idea of near misses, Gladwell argues, that leads to underdogs often rising up far higher than anyone might predict.  And although the concept sometimes seems extreme, he fills the book with plenty of examples to back it up.

While there aren't a ton of lessons to take away for improving your personal life or approach towards problems, the book is, as are all of Gladwell's books, a thoroughly interesting and engaging read.

Time to read: about 3 hours.

The Man Who Bought Socks

I glanced up from the paperback sci-fi novel held just below the counter as the bell over the front door jangled.  As soon as my eyes focused in on the man's face, I sighed.  I put the paperback away, bracing myself and taking a deep breath, trying to prep for the confrontation I was sure to begin momentarily.

In my head, I whispered a silent but fervent curse to UPS for delaying the recent clothing shipment to our store.  Didn't they know that we had regular customers?

Extremely regular, a few of them.

"Hey, Albert," I called out, leaning over the counter a little and giving a wave of my hand to get the man's attention as he shuffled in.  "Listen, buddy, little problem..."

Danni California: Part 5

Continued from Part 4, here.
Start the story here.

* * *

Ten hours later, the foreman gave each of the workers a nod as they passed by.  In his hands he held a thick stack of thin envelopes, and he handed one of these to each man as they passed.

Danni knew better than to rip the envelope open right away.  The foreman might be a cheap skinflint, but he knew better than to rip off his workers.  He told them all how little they were going to make, and then paid them precisely that.  If he tried anything else, he'd soon be without a crew.

"Hey, Flame-head," called out a voice next to her.

Danni glanced over at James, the skinny, scrawny youth jogging to catch up with her.  The young man looked half-starved, like always, but he still put on a grin as he loped up beside her - and Danni's smile in return was genuine.  

"Hey, Skinny-bones," she replied, the nicknames affectionate rather than insulting.  "How was your long day of grueling labor?"

"Oh, same as always," the kid replied with a shrug.  His back was still a bit hunched; that tended to happen after spending the whole day picking up the nails that the other workmen dropped.  He, unlike Danni, had already ripped open his pay envelope.  Danni could see the end of it sticking out of a pocket on his oversized, baggy canvas trousers.

"So," James continued after sucking in another breath, "what are you going to do tonight?  Are we hitting the town?  Living it up like kings?"  He bounced a little as he trotted along, making the pockets of his pants jingle with the change inside.

Danni couldn't help but smile at the kid's exuberance, but even though she was only a year older than him, she couldn't help feeling wiser by many years.  "Yeah, maybe later," she dismissed his suggestion.  "But first, I gotta go visit my mom."

James's eyebrows rose.  "You know, I've never gotten to meet your mom?" he said, his tone turning the words into a question. 

Danni stopped and just looked at him for a minute.  Even for those few seconds, she could see the man growing uncomfortable, his shoulders pulling back a little, but he didn't back away.

"Okay," she finally said.  "Follow me."

*

A half hour later, they both stood in silence, looking down at the smooth stone in front of them.

When James finally spoke up again, his voice was hushed, muted of its usual enthusiasm.  "Sorry, Danni," he said quietly.  "I didn't know."

"That's okay," the girl replied, reaching out and patting her friend on the shoulder.  Her eyes, however, never left the stone in front of them.

When they arrived, she had bent down and carefully cleared away some of the weeds and taller blades of glass, making sure that the stone was visible.  It wasn't properly carved, but she'd paid off the tab of one of the masons in town, and he'd chiseled some words into the stone in exchange.

"Might not be carved proper, but at least it's good granite," he had remarked as he finished hammering in the words that Danni requested.  "Should last a while if you keep the roots off it."

And the girl had done so.  Every two weeks, while the rest of her work crew headed down to the bars to fritter away their meager pay so that they could live like rich folks for a night, she would make the hike up to this hill and carefully clear away any errant plants encroaching on the stone.

After another few minutes, Danni opened her mouth again.  "She wanted me to make something," she said, not looking over at James.

"What, like a house or something?"

She shook her head, the long strands of red hair falling out around her face.  "No, of myself."  She gestured around, out at the skeletal frames of buildings in the distance, at her dusty and stained clothing.  "She wanted me to be more than just another little poor girl."

James opened his mouth, but the boy found himself at a rare loss of words.  "Yeah, but no one gets outta here," he finally said, truth winning out over tact.  "I mean, nobody leaves - there's nothing else out there.  At least here there's work, enough to get by."

He saw Danni nod, but the woman didn't reply.  "All the money's owned by the rich folks up north," he went on.  "And they keep it all in banks, so you can't even rob 'em!  So we're all kinda stuck here."

The girl had straightened up a little, and glanced back at him.  She was taller than James, and as she looked down at him, James thought for a moment that he saw a queer glint in her eyes in the dusk.  

"What?" he asked, confused.

After a second, though, Danni shook her head.  "No, it's nothing," she said.  "Forget it."  

But as they headed down the quiet hill, back towards the hustle and activity of the town, an idea was growing and flowering in her head...

To be continued...

Book 11 of 52: "The ABC Murders" by Agatha Christie

Going back to fiction again!  I'm continuing in my quest to read all of Agatha Christie's consistently amazing mystery books.

Normally, a mystery book doesn't reveal the killer right away.  If so, he's well hidden, and often the last person to be suspected.  We almost certainly don't get a chapter from his narrative, telling us his full name and what he's up to.

But there's a reason why Agatha Christie's books are anything but normal...

Pickup for the Errand Boy

I pedaled my bike through the maze of narrow streets, my eyes running over the numbers printed on the sides and doorways of the buildings as I whizzed past.  Occasionally, my turning and meandering path would veer me out into traffic, but I ignored the honks and occasional shouts.

Where the hell was this place?

Still pedaling, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the little scrap of paper my boss had handed me.  No, I still had the address correct in my memory.

"1408 Shining Ave," I read off aloud.  No other directions...

Danni California: Part 4

Continued from Part 3, here.
Start the story here.

* * *

As the man in black paused in the retelling of his story, Jenny felt herself rise back up to the present.  She had been sitting and listening for far too long, she suddenly realized.  The bar was still as empty as always, but if her boss came out and spotted her lounging and listening to this story, she'd be in for an earful.

Next to her, Old Hillpaw also started as the young waitress rose up abruptly from her seat.  "Figure I ought to wet your whistle, if you're gonna keep going," he commented to the man in black, who answered this with a slow nod.

The man in black didn't say anything as the two members of his small audience left his table.  He simply returned his attention back to the typewriter, once again slowly pecking out word after word.

Ten minutes later, a scrape across from him made the man in black look up.

Book 10 of 52: "Think Like a Freak" by Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner

The authors of this book might be recognizable - they're the same two guys who wrote Freakonomics, followed by the sequel, Superfreakonomics.  They are great at showing how a lot of behavior that, on its face seems irrational, is actually totally logical and can be explained.  They also show how sometimes, making a decision that seems crazy might be the best possible option to do.

Now, in their third book, Think Like a Freak, Levitt and Dubner claim to be able to teach all of us rubes how to think in the same way as them; how to take a situation and turn it on its head, looking at an unusual approach as a solution that might work better than the old "tried and true" method.

So, how do they fare?

"We're made of star stuff."

I stared down at the control panel spread out in front of me.  Even now, as the entire floor shuddered beneath my chair, I couldn't help but notice how, well, homemade the whole thing looked.

Over there, wasn't that lever off of the lawnmower bot that had used to rumble around my backyard?  And I recognized the steering handle in front of me, the one that controlled the angle of the main thrusters, as coming from that old decommissioned hover-junker that had been abandoned in my back yard a few years back after I gave up on it as a side project.

Of course, this craft was a side project, too.  

But this was one that wasn't a fleeting passion, wasn't a passing fancy.  I had wanted this for as long as I can remember, ever since my grandfather bounced me on his lap.

"Don't forget, kid," he had told me, as his wrinkled hands gripped me firmly and his knee bounced lightly beneath my bottom.  "You're made of star stuff."

It wasn't until I was older, until my grandfather was no longer alive, that I'd really come to understand what his quote truly meant.  But even before I knew the meaning behind the words, it fascinated me.

Our molecules, the very building blocks of our bodies, had been forged in the crucible of stars, stars long since gone in fiery explosions.  We were all created out of those remains, hydrogen atoms compressed into more complex and elaborate structures in the aftermath of their original hosts' destruction.  We were all forged from molecules, atoms, that had once been part of a fiery fission drive within the wilderness of space.

My father, of course, had reacted in typical protective fashion, ordering me to ignore the wild words of my grandfather.  "Don't get cocky, kid," he'd tell me, ruffling my hair, when I tried to ask him questions about stars and the worlds beyond our own.  "The universe is no place to be cocky.  It's dangerous, and can get you killed.  Better to keep your head down."

I looked around me at the hand-constructed vehicle in which I sat, my finger poised over the key.  I was definitely not keeping my head down.

I heard a shout, faint but still audible even through this vehicle's thick shielding.  "Harry!  Come out of there!"

I stood up from the seat with a grunt, pushing aside the unbuckled harness designed to hold me in place if I ever found the courage to fire up the engine.  I climbed down, navigating with difficulty along the wall that was intended to be the floor.  Moving inside the vehicle was tough with it pointed up at the sky, but a few minutes later, I managed to emerge out into the sunlight.

My mother stood out in the field behind our house, staring with her usual doubtfulness at my creation.  "Harry, when are you going to give up on all this craziness?" she asked, with a sigh.  "You've had your fun putting it together, but you'll never actually launch, will you?  I mean, there's no need!"

"There's always a need!" I exulted back at her, going through the same steps of the same argument we'd had dozens of times before.  "Mom, we never explored all that's out there!  We just used a shortcut, dodging around the whole problem instead of facing the challenge head-on!"

"But the portals are safer," my mother argued, as she'd done so many times before.  "No need to go into space - just hop from our planet to another through the nethers, without needing to wait for travel time, or having to risk riding on top of a giant explosion!  What you're proposing is so dangerous, so foolhardy-"

"But portals will never show us everything!" I insisted.  "Mom, portals can take us to another planet, but will they ever let us come close to a star, to truly see all that's out there beyond the places we can comfortably rest?"

My mom crossed her arms.  "The portals protect us from that danger," she concluded, and I could tell that she refused to hear any more.

But even as I headed inside for dinner, I couldn't risk one last look back at the big, clunky machine, its nose cone pointed up at the dusky sky.  I had worked hard to wire it all together, to make every weld that held its body intact, to attach the old but reliable fusion engines that were now being sold off cheaply since the entire mode of travel had been abandoned.

The portals were safer, were easier.  They took us straight to our destinations without any fuss of the trip there.  

But they were never going to truly carry us to the stars.  

My grandfather's words echoed in my head, and I mentally resolved that tomorrow, as soon as the sun rose, I would launch.  

We were made of star stuff, and I was going to see my creator.

The 'Doubt' Theory of God

The devil sitting across the table from me leaned back, one hand lazily twirling a finger about an inch above the brim of his coffee cup.  Even though there was nothing physically extending down into the cup itself, the liquid beneath his finger seemed to be moving along with his motions.

In front of me, both of my hands were wrapped around my own coffee cup.  Even after years of working here, of pouring coffee every day for the angels, both holy and fallen, that wandered in here, I still got nervous when talking to them.  Call it mortal nerves, maybe.  I waited for the devil in front of me to respond.

"See, here's my theory," the devil across from me finally started.  His voice was cultured, with only the very faintest little hint of a sneer giving any sort of allusion to his true nature.  "We all know that God exists, somewhere, in some form.  Right?  We," and he waved one hand around in a little circle to encompass the two of us, the coffee shop, the world in general, "wouldn't be here if He didn't exist."

Book 9 of 52: "The C Student's Guide to Success" by Ron Bliwas

I would like to preface this little review by saying that, despite the title of this book, I am not a C student.  I am, in fact, an A student (at least on a good day), and so I wasn't sure how useful some of the advice in this book would be.  However, I firmly believed that it was a good idea to know what strategies these C students were using to get ahead of me - so I can crush them at that as well!

Just kidding.  Mostly.

As for the advice of the book itself, a lot of it is rather common sense (although perhaps that's just my "A student" mentality speaking, and many "C students" don't realize this stuff).  Common advice in the book includes taking over jobs that no one else wants, going for the challenging risk when others hang back, not being afraid to throw yourself into new experiences, and making sure to learn some new skill at every job.

Bliwas takes a lighter hand with attacking A students, but he does state that many of them, thanks to the connections of success or money, don't bother with many of these tidbits of advice.  However, many of these suggestions sounded familiar.  Why is that...

...oh yes, because they're also in every other management and career advice book I've read.

For a student who didn't score the highest grades and is struggling to find a way to connect or succeed in a job, the tips and suggestions given in "The C Student's Guide to Success" are good.  But don't let that student believe that they've found some hidden secret, some inside track.

Everyone out there is going for these same moves - and that includes many A students.  Sure, some of them believe that connections and grades will get them all the way, but most A students tend to be overachievers - and that comes to their devotion to a job as well as their devotion to studying classroom material.  Those A students were willing to take on the workload of extra credit in their classes, and they're just as willing to take on the workload of a challenging project or long hours in a career.  Even here, I suspect that many C students will find themselves outflanked.

Overall, Bliwas wrote a decent book.  My two big complaints, in the end, are as such:

1. Bliwas has several "rags to riches" success stories of various friends and business contacts.  These are good stories, and reflect a wide range of viewpoints - but the author always has to use the person's full name every time they're referenced!  For some reason, this strikes me as shoddy writing (by 100 pages in, we should remember someone named "Art Frigo"!).  It gets annoying and distracts from the message of the book.

2. As you can see above, the cover of this book features the title, "The C Student's Guide to Success," in very big, easy to read letters.  While this is great for advertising the book, it does make me feel a bit uncomfortable about carrying the book around.  "Look at me, I have bad grades!" it shouts out to passerby.

Time to read: 10 hours.  This was a "bedside read" that I struggled to get through, mainly due to the author's habit of consistently referencing the same individuals over and over, always by their full names, giving me deja vu and making me think I'd already read that section.

Just Like Their Father

"Hey there, you two.  How are you guys holding up?"

The oldest's wine glass shook a little in his hand as he approached his two brothers.  Nerves, he told himself.  He willed his hand to cease, to hold still.  It was a fine vintage, after all.  No need to spill even a drop.

"Hey.  I'm doing all right.  Your flight get in all right?"

"Yeah.  Little rough coming in with the storm and all, but the pilot handled it.  I'm just glad I was able to book a hotel room last-minute and all."

"Hotel?  You could have stayed here with the two of us."

The oldest shook his head.  "Nah.  Late night work to do.  Always more business to attend to, even at times like this."

Danni California: Part 3

Continued from Part 2, here.
Start the story here.

Three months later, as Carson strolled back towards his police station, he could sense that something was wrong.

The building, even before he reached the heavy, weathered front door, somehow felt emptier.  Even before he laid his hand on the handle, he felt like it was colder than usual, like the absence of life within meant that less heat was spreading out into the building itself.

Even so, he had to open the door.  Carson braced himself, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

Book 8 of 52: "Art of the Sale" by Philip Delves Broughton

Is it strange that I really like reading books about sales, even though I'm not in a sales position?  As a graduate student, the most "sales" I have to do is selling my PI on some idea as the best approach, while secretly biting at my fingernails and hoping I'm not overlooking some obvious blunder.  I'm definitely not out cold-calling clients or making commissions.

But even so, I think some of the case studies in Philip Broughton's narrative, "Art of the Sale", are applicable to just about everyone who interacts with another person.