Brandwashed

Last I checked, Martin Lindstrom was receiving a lot of flak for claiming in the New York Times that neuroscience proves that people literally love the iPhone. The oped piece was typical of Lindstrom's penchant for making bold claims about consumer culture and marketing, invoking science and empirical evidence to back it up, but glossing over maybe one too many crucial details along the way.

Yet I happen to like Lindstrom's work, which I agree must be taken with a grain of salt. I enjoyed his other book, Buy:ology, and find his regular column in FastCompany both insightful and entertaining. He seems to be in touch with the pulse of consumers and what marketers do in order to capitalize on it. Furthermore, even if the research he uses to support his claims could stand improvement (in presentation, if not substance), his appreciation for how data and science underlie successful sales and marketing is most definitely worth learning from.

His latest book, Brandwashed: Tricks Companies Use to Manipulate Our Minds and Persuade Us to Buy, perhaps captures all the reasons I find Lindstrom's work worthy of attention -- as well as many of the reasons why he is excoriated by his critics.

As the title suggests, the conceit of Brandwashed is straightforward: it is an exposition of the many techniques that marketers use in order to compel/encourage/trick people into wanting/needing/buying the products that they peddle. Most people think that they make consumption decisions independent of whatever gimmicks companies use to bring prominence to their brands, that they are sophisticated enough to tune out most marketing messages and sales pitches. But as Lindstrom points out in his book, nothing could be further from the truth. We have become primed to crave the "new new thing", to identify with logos and brand identities, to associate products with the lifestyles we want to lead.  Companies have become very adept at grabbing our attention, keeping it, and convincing us to part with our money.  Whether we realize it or not, each of us in our own way has become brandwashed.

You could say that Lindstrom's book is a tell-all (of sorts) of the different tricks at the disposal of today's marketing professional.  Indeed, Brandwashed lays much of it bare for readers to behold, bringing to light many of the sales tactics that people have ever suspected companies of using -- such as clothes that are labeled a size or two smaller to flatter unsuspecting consumers, or products targeted at infants in the hope of developing lifetime consumers -- but taking care not to spill too much of the beans.  Therein lies the book's appeal: it reveals just enough to interest/horrify/amuse the average reader, but not enough to be of too much concern to fellow marketers (many of whom, I suspect, will come away from the book thinking, "Why didn't I think of that?").  Thankfully, not all of it is sleazy, and I think most readers will come away from Brandwashed marveling at why we are susceptible to such techniques in the first place.

Still, just as in his piece regarding the iPhone -- which is also in the book, by the way -- Lindstrom deserves criticism for jumping too readily to conclusions based on arguably questionable science.  At the very least, it can be deemed questionable barring further information.  For instance, he repeatedly invokes studies conducted by a neuromarketing firm in support of some his claims, but isn't able to provide sufficient details that speak to the credibility of these studies (e.g., representativeness, research design, etc.).  In fact, I'm rather certain that most readers will find the real-life experiment Lindstrom conducted and recounted at the end of Brandwashed to be blatantly unethical -- even if it makes for riveting reading.

But that's really the point, isn't it? If it abided by the strict rigors of science, then Brandwashed wouldn't be anywhere near as fun to read, which it undoubtedly is.  Such is the masterstroke Lindstrom has achieved with Brandwashed: to entertain us with the folly of our own ways, to provide plausible explanations why this must be the case, and maybe -- just maybe -- help turn us into savvier consumers in the process.

The Hangman's Daughter

The Hangman's Daughter is a novel by Oliver Pötzsch's that Amazon bet on in a big way: the online retailer took in this German work of historical fiction under its AmazonCrossing imprint in order to bring it to a wider English-speaking and -reading audience.

I would have to say that they made a very good choice.

The novel centers around events in a 17th century German town, where the mysterious deaths of several children give rise to hysteria over suspected witchcraft.  As such, a midwife known to have cared for the children is accused of being a witch and it is left to Jakob Kuisl, the town's hangman, to extract a confession and eventually execute her.  But things are not so simple: Kuisl believes the midwife to be innocent, as does the local physician that examined the children's wounds.  Working together in secret, they set about to bring the true murderer to justice before Kuisl is compelled by the town council to do his duty and take the innocent woman's life.

One might assume that the reason the novel is a piece of historical fiction is because of its plot and premise.  While the specific events in the book did not occur per se, they are events that could very well have taken place, given the setting.  But there is more that is historical about the book than that.  Indeed, while the events in the book are fictional, the character Jakob Kuisl is not: it turns out that Kuisl is an actual ancestor of Pötzsch, and really was the hangman of his village.  So it should not at all be surprising that Kuisl comes across as the iconic character of the book, as close to a scene-stealer as any written character might be.

This interweaving of fact and fiction mostly works well for the book.  It is interesting to learn, for instance, that hangmen were shunned by society in the 17th century, yet were also considered medicine men that could provide treatment much cheaper than town barbers or doctors.  Such details, researched by Pötzsch, contribute a lot to the story's atmosphere.  At the same time, the plot unfolds like a modern-day police procedural and murder mystery, with what could be described as believable 17th century forensic science.  Thankfully, Pötzsch does not try to oversell it -- I would say the story itself is largely believable -- but he manages to inject just enough modern flair into the narrative to make it exciting.

My only disappointment with the book is its title.  As I neared the story's end, I grew more expectant that there would be some grand revelation that would explain why the novel was entitled The Hangman's Daughter.  But there was no grand reveal, no memorable "A-ha!" moment that would prompt me to look at the book in a new light, despite the fact that Kuisl's daughter Magdalena is also a prominent character in the novel.  I would go so far as to say the book could have been titled...well, anything, and that Pötzsch eventually settled on The Hangman's Daughter just because it sounded cool.

But no matter.  Overall, I enjoyed reading The Hangman's Daughter, learning things about 17th century European culture I hadn't known before, and seeing the story's mystery unfold to its foreseeable conclusion.  And I'm quite certain I would have enjoyed reading it no matter what the novel might have been called.

John of Salisbury [Presentation Thursdays]

View this presentation on Slideshare

More slides on Political Thought, this time featuring ideas from John of Salisbury.

Since the course content was organized in a more or less historical/chronological fashion, by this time the class was venturing into medieval political thought. This is somewhat evident in the presentation.

And yes, as the teacher I dealt with my own fair share of inevitable "Did he invent the Salisbury steak?" questions, too...

[Confused about Presentation Thursdays? Then read the first in the series].

Read All About It [The Internet is Down]

If you ever wondered whether news websites bothered to be creative about their error pages, then this one's for you

First, I came across this very cleverly worded error message on the New York Times

"We seem to have lost this page," it says, "but we don't want to lose you."

As Shakespeare once wrote, there's a double meaning in that.

Meanwhile, the New York Daily News has this little gem of a reference to the newspaper industry of yore:

All in all, pretty neat don't you think?

[Confused about The Internet Is Down? Then read the first in the series.]

Hmph

Just had to be said. So there.

Again, I think this'll look good on a t-shirt.

And yes, this is me riffing on an idea from Gapingvoid, so hat tip to Hugh Macleod.

Brilliant Mistakes

As the title implies, author Paul J.H. Schoemaker argues in his new book Brilliant Mistakes: Finding Success on the Far Side of Failure that there are such things as brilliant mistakes -- errors that actually have welcome and positive consequences that far outweigh their costs -- and that therefore people should actually welcome making more mistakes.

I am not entirely certain that the book is successful in this regard. But I can say with complete confidence that it is successful for other perhaps more valuable reasons.

Mistakes are often regarded as such depending on outcomes: a decision is considered wrong or ill-fated to the extent that it does not yield the desired result. Notwithstanding this, we know that sometimes a mistake's unintended consequences can be invaluable, and for much more than the learning experience. Whether it's the erroneous assumption that allows us to build otherwise grand and for the most part accurate theories, or mistakes that bring to our attention the previously undiscovered, there is no denying that some mistakes actually turn out for the best. For this reason, Schoemaker argues that mistakes shouldn't be defined from the outcomes that ensue from a decision but instead by the process that gives rise to the mistake in the process.

Hence, in Brilliant Mistakes, a mistake is defined as any sub-optimal decision given the available information at hand. Such a definition is rooted firmly in decision theory and clearly has a process-oriented bent. Schoemaker acknowledges that such a definition seems counterintuitive, and goes to some lengths to help readers appreciate the insights that may be gleaned from viewing mistakes in this manner. But he falls short of making a thoroughly convincing case. Perhaps at the root of this difficulty is the inherently problematic nature of the definition that he proposes, as the notion of what is "sub-optimal" is often a matter of perception and open to too much interpretation. Indeed, it would seem that Schoemaker himself falls into this trap in his own book, discussing the merits of engineering deliberate mistakes despite it not being clear why the decisions undertaken in the situations he describes are mistakes (as he defines them).

Yet this lapse is easy enough to forgive: say what one will about whether Brilliant Mistakes succeeds at elaborating on its eponymous subject, there is no denying it is a valuable book about decision-making and decision theory.

In fact, I would submit that this is what Schoemaker really intended to write, as enamored as he may be with the notion of the "brilliant mistake". Cast in this light, Brilliant Mistakes succeeds as a reader for making better decisions. It offers an erudite and concise discussion on decision theory, drawing on insights from behavioral economics and similar fields in order to describe a useful paradigm and practical environment for good decision-making. Ultimately, when framed in this manner it is easy to see how the notion of the brilliant mistake ties into the underlying discussion on decision theory. After all, a good decision-making process is one that not only limits the probability of making a mistake, but at the same time minimizes the possible costs that might arise should they occer as well as maximizes the efficacy of learning from them. This is precisely where the value of Schoemaker's book lies. When all is said and done, Schoemaker does make a convincing case for why we shouldn't be afraid to make mistakes -- because he effectively conveys what constitutes good decisions.

Thus, I feel that those reading Brilliant Mistakes may not be too enamored about the concept of the brilliant mistake, but will certainly come away from the book enthused about learning much about decision theory.

Unless, of course, I happen to be mistaken.

[Brilliant Mistakes will be published by Wharton Press on 8 November 2011. This review is based on a pre-publication proof obtained through NetGalley.]

One of Our Thursdays is Missing

There are two reasons I sat on the fence for so long on the latest Thusday Next novel from Jasper Fforde, One of Our Thursdays is Missing.

First, I wanted to read the book on my Kindle, and was worried about whether there would be footnoter phone gags in the book. Anyone who has followed the Thursday Next series knows that a large part of the fun owes to the footnotes that allow in-story characters to chat with one another off-story (as it were), and somehow the thought of having to endure this on the Kindle, even with hyperlinked footnotes, simply did not appeal to me.

Second, I wasn't particularly enthusiastic about Fforde's prior outing in the series, First Among Sequels. No, let me be more direct: I found it disappointing. It could've been because the book featured an older Thursday; or maybe it was because Fforde decided to end that book on a cliffhanger (yet another gag, I'm sure). Whatever it was, I thought that First Among Sequels was already an indication that this series I once enjoyed so much was already in decline.

So it took months before I decided to take the plunge again. And I can't tell you why exactly. But I'm glad I did, because One of Our Thursdays is Missing is in my estimation probably the best book in the series to date.

(And there isn't a single footnoter phone gag, in case you were wondering.)

In many ways, reading through One of Our Thursdays is Missing is like rediscovering the series for the first time, mainly because the protagonist isn't series heroine Thursday Next, she of SpecOps and Jurisfiction. Rather, in keeping with the series' deliciously convoluted universe, the story unfolds from the perspective of the "fictional" Thursday Next (the one who appears in the novels written about the real Thursday) because, as the title suggests, the real Thursday Next has gone missing. This turn of events is a breath of fresh air for the series -- as does the addition of an awesome robot sidekick -- and readers get to see Fforde's imagination come to life yet again through characters both familiar and new at the same time. In my estimation, this means the book is ideal entry point for new readers, while fans will be thoroughly rewarded for sticking with the series as they will most likely appreciate the abundant references to continuity (personally, I still think that naming a character "Jack Schitt", however juvenile, is still pretty hilarious).

As a longtime reader, it's particularly enjoyable to see Fforde at his wittiest and most creative in One of Our Thursdays is Missing. Case in point: he has the gumption to reuse the opening paragraphs of a chapter in one of the prior books in this one, but manages to do it in a way that makes complete, absolute sense. I can't think of any writer who can pull off a stunt like that. Or explain why people get drowsy while reading a book. Or any number of the jokes and references he includes for bibliophiles to enjoy. Whether you find one or many of these references, it doesn't matter: you will enjoy each all the same just because you spotted them.

I discovered Jasper Fforde's work through his nursery crime series, but there's no denying that Thursday Next remains his flagship work. His love of books and of reading always shine through in each Thursday Next book, and to my mind they shine brightest in One of Our Thursdays is Missing.  Somehow, it's fitting that it took a "fictional" Thursday for me to rediscover my appreciation for the series. Indeed, as the book drew to a close, I couldn't help but wonder whether which character I liked better: the "real" Thursday or the "fictional" one. I really can't say. But I can say that it doesn't really matter: given Fforde's boundless imagination, I'm sure that there will be readers will soon be treated to more of Thursday Next's adventures -- whether the fictional one or otherwise.