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Last night in Barnes & Noble I picked up a copy of Malcolm Gladwell's new book--Outliers: The Story of Success. I skimmed the jacket flap, read the first page, and bought it on the spot, even though I don't have any money. I enjoyed The Tipping Point and Blink, not for their scientific revolutions, but because they entertained me. And, when I read Gladwell's books, I tend to think deeply about the questions he is asking.

In Outliers, Gladwell is tackling, among other things, the narrative of success in twenty-first century America. He takes issue with the usual praise of individuals, the Horatio Alger myths of our culture, the rags-to-riches stories. He sums up the problem eloquently in the introduction.

"The tallest oak tree in the forest is the tallest not just because it grew from the hardiest acorn," Malcolm Gladwell writes. "It is the tallest also because no other trees blocked its sunlight, the soil around it was deep and rich, no rabbit chewed through its bark as a sapling, and no lumberjack cut it down before it matured. We all know that successful people come from hardy seeds. But do we know enough about the sunlight that warmed them, the soil in which they put down their roots, and the rabbits and lumberjacks they were lucky enough to avoid?"

Gladwell's ability to succinctly state complex problems is one of the greatest strengths--and the greatest weaknesses--of his books.

Today I heard lots of criticism of Malcolm Gladwell--chiefly, say, that his work is "pop science." The comment, delivered with certainty and condescension, assumes intrinsically that the books, being pop science, have no worth. But this withering dismissal is both unfair and harmful in the long term. Also it misses the point of Gladwell's writing entirely. First, let's look at why Gladwell's writing might be called pop science.

We can safely assume, I am confident, that the three-letter-word "pop" is a euphemism for "sub"--as in "sub-science" or "substandard science." Gladwell's writing is concerned with anecdotes and people. His conclusions are sketchy and broad, not to mention, in some cases, potentially flawed. And he is a terrific writer, which makes the prose fluid, and reading Outliers (or The Tipping Point or Blink) is like drinking a glass of water. When you read something so well written, it is hard to trust the author--I find this just as much when reading John Gardner or Leo Tolstoy. So we need to read critically (be on your guard) and help the author, in some places, by supplying experiences he may not have heard about.

The smooth prose draws attention to the implied author, Malcolm Gladwell's "refined and distilled spirit," who moves through the work at all times, even when the author is not referencing himself directly with an "I" character. This ghost, in Outliers: The Story of Success, is more confident in this book than in the previous two. More aggressive, too, I might add. Such a tone might turn off favorable reviewers.

So we have the combined problems of a terrific writer and an aggressive--some might say arrogant, but I wouldn't go that far--implied author. Part of this, I think, is due to the aggressive marketing of Gladwell's work as "revolution-causing." That's a lot of pressure to put on the author every time out of the gate. And, as Ben Franklin pointed out, people are put off by those who speak in certainties. "I found people more amicable to my ideas," Franklin said, "when I say, 'Yes, I understand where you are coming from, but I have also observed that the opposite is true. Please, let me explain what I noticed.'"

I'm paraphrasing, but Franklin's point is this: Telling people an absolute gets them defensive, gets their backs up, and makes it difficult to convince them when the ability to work together is the most important. To this end, I would suggest the subtitle be changed to Outliers: Stories of Success. Nobody, after all, likes a know-it-all, and the "the" of the subtitle is a little off-putting.

But let's return to the problem of "pop science." The fact is Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers can't be pop science--because, when you look closely, you notice it isn't science at all. It's journalism, pure and simple, an extended magazine article.

Gladwell is a staff writer at The New Yorker. His chief business is letters and words and putting them in order. After that, his business is people, not science. His books deal in anecdotes because he's a writer who is interested in people, how they live practically, and so on.

Now writing and science are often powered by the same engines. Gladwell also worked, I believe, as a business and science reporter at the Washington Post. So his curiousity about I.Q. tests, coal mining, psychology, and sociology are natural and fine--many writers no doubt share his interests. But to call Malcolm Gladwell a scientist is going too far.

As far as I can find, Mr. Gladwell never professed to be a scientist. He's a writer.

Most of what Gladwell says in Outliers, too, isn't revolutionary. Lots of it--like that Bill Gates and the Beatles both had to practice 10,000 hours before they broke out--has been noted before. If it hadn't, we wouldn't have sayings like "Practice makes perfect."

The merit in Outliers is that it presents these arguments in fresh ways. It refocuses our attention to rules we knew--such as that no one, not even a genius, can make it alone--and tells us the story in a new and entertaining and exciting way. Dismissing all the hard work in Outliers also is harmful because the saying "pop science," as I mentioned before, assumes that the work has no merit--obviously false. Still, before you know it, everyone is saying "pop science" like they're a bunch of parrots unable to speak for themselves.

In fact, Outliers has quite a bit to offer. Mostly it is thought-provoking, entertaining, and exceedingly well written. I would recommend it to anyone interested in success.

The Panther Poems

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Thomas Hardy wrote a poem in 1909 titled "Pantera," which, according to James Tabor, author of The Jesus Dynasty, recounts the physical and emotional love between Mary, mother of Jesus, and a Roman soldier, Abdes Pantera. (The t is pronounced th in Latin; it is the word for "panther.") This same Pantera, it was later said, is the true father of Jesus.

For more about Dr. Tabor and the supposed headstone of Jesus' father, follow this link. The inscription in the photo on that page reads: "Tiberius Julius Abdes Pantera of Sidon, Aged 62. A soldier of 40 years service, of the 1st Cohort of Archers, lies here." Dr. Tabor's writing is very polished and intelligent, which lends me to suggest his books, although I haven't read them.

The Panther has long been a rumored father of Jesus in sources dating from a few years after Christ's death. Some were included in the Bible, some not. Many clues point to this Palestinian expatriate, Abdes Pantera, buried in Germany. The point of this post is not to expound on the likely or truth of such claims. It is to review critically the collection of poems by James Whitehead, published posthumously, titled The Panther (Moon City Press).

James Whitehead put a lot of work into the research for The Panther. Some readers, it must be said, will remember Whitehead as the New York Times Bestselling author of Joiner (1971). He was also a beloved teacher of writing at the University of Arkansas.

The design of the book, the introduction by Michael Burns, and the forward by James Tabor are thrilling, well written, and interesting. Most of Whitehead's writing is structurally sturdy and perfectly serviceable. 

After that, though, I feel the book begins to lose steam. The poems were unpublished as of Whitehead's death, and, I must say, they feel unfinished.

Here's an example. In a poem titled "Mary: Shortly After the Death of Joseph," the touching, lyrical verse seems interrupted by clunky writing. Whitehead feels like he is forcing the historical accuracy instead of letting it emerge organically. He writes "James... did come for the burial, saying Jesus was indisposed," which sounds wrong, colloquial as it is, and then goes on to say "Joseph was in the ground within a day according to our practices."

Why does the author use the word "practices"? At once I felt, when reading this poem, that I was listening to a scholar and not a poet. These slips undermine the powerful line at the end of the poem, when Mary writes, "It was terrible to realize he wasn't breathing."

Even that line, though, is undermined by the weak double "was" and prepositional phrases construction.

Another example of a line that bothered me:

The angel Gabriel visits the Panther to tell him, "I'M GABRIEL! HAIL ABDES PANTHERA! YOU THE MAN! YOUR SON IN GALILEE IS MAGICAL!"

Why does Gabriel talk like a hippie on the streets of San Francisco -- likely Haight-Ashbury -- circa 1969? Perhaps it is what Whitehead intended -- it must be, since he was a writer of some caliber -- but I still think it's inappropriate. Don't get me wrong: The subject matter doesn't bother me one bit. But the writing is bad and that's what bothers me. Not to mention the irritating use of exclamation points and capital letters. Another example is when Whitehead tells us that Mary and Abdes Pantera -- this is no joke -- had some "good, down-home loving."

The story is not set in Arkansas or the American south. By using the expressions of his native Mississippi, Whitehead distances me from his collection. I've only pointed out a few instances.

For its sparse layout, interesting forwards, and incendiary subject matter, I give The Panther by James Whitehead a 2.5 out of 5 stars. I had high hopes for the book; mostly it let me down. Of course special recognition must be given to Michael Burns, Miller Williams, James Tabor, and Jim Baumlin, who worked so hard to put the collection together. The book's overall failure to deliver is not their failure. Most of all, I would say it is the passing of James Whitehead, who died in 2003, that causes this book of unfinished poems to fall short of its potential. I wish Whitehead could have lived longer, to finish the poems in their entirety, because the book is a very good idea.

I will recommend the book be purchased, although, as I have said, the material is hit and miss. You can order a copy of The Panther by contacting the Missouri State English Department at

Pummill Hall, Rm. 301
901 S. National Ave.
Springfield, MO 65897.

  

Book Review: The Given Day

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thegivenday-book-cover.jpgThis year in Anaheim at the American Library Association (ALA) convention, among several worthy titles, I picked up a copy of The Given Day by Dennis Lehane.

The book comes out on September 23rd, 2008. At the bottom of the cover, the inscription "New York Times bestselling author of mystic river" caught my eye.

The front flap--rather than reveal the story's details--was a short letter from Jane Friedman at WilliamMorrow.

"In The Given Day we discover a new Dennis--one who has crafted a literary tour de force," Friedman wrote. "Brilliantly written, expertly plotted, rich with historical detail and sense of place, this is a book whose themes continue to resonate."

At the time, I admit to wondering if any book could live up to that hype. I opened the covers and turned to the prologue: "Babe Ruth in Ohio."

Ten days later, when I had finished the galley--the book was impossible to put down--I was a believer. Dennis Lehane had written something amazing. When I asked him about the novel as part of my Ask the Writer series, he brushed aside the question with a joke.

"I would strongly recommend nobody ever attempt a historical epic," Lehane says. "It's for crazy people. Way too much hard work. I'm glad it's done. I hope it's good."

In fact, the book is good. Very, very good.

Set in Boston at the end of the 1917, The Given Day brings to life a forgotten era in American history. Woodrow Wilson is the president of the United States. Calvin Coolidge is the governor of Massachusetts. The narrative follows two families: one white, one black. This is a time when one world is dying and another world is not yet born; a time of revolutions, terrorism, plagues, reds, anarchists, fear, and social upheaval. To even a casual reader, the parallels to our own time may be familiar. With good reason, Lehane says, although he can't take all the credit.

"The parallels reared their head very early," Lehane says. "I had no hand in that; the gods wrapped me a gift. All I had to do was put it to paper; editorializing or commenting on the parallels in any fashion would have been redundant. History proves that, time and time again, fear or the perception of powerlessness produces fascist impulses in people and societies. The more afraid you are, the more vicious and infantile you usually become. I don't think I say anything revolutionary in that regard with The Given Day, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be said and said as much as possible."

Social commentary aside, The Given Day is a terrific story--historical fiction at its finest. Dennis Lehane keeps the pace moving fast enough to satisfy a restless mind and slow enough to explore hidden agendas and emotions in each person he creates (or resurrects). With so much research, detail, and historical fact, Lehane never once falls into the trap of becoming professorial. Even in today's fast-paced society, The Given Day will hold its own among films, blogs, and television as a work of entertainment. The writing in The Given Day is artistic without sacrificing function. Lehane keeps tight control over his sprawling epic, treating each character with the proper respect and distance. It's been a long time since I read a novel so well written. I can't go on at length without revealing too much of the plot or the characters--so I won't. This is a book you should pick up and read for yourself.

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