I should say up front that I enjoy reading Malcolm Gladwell. I usually can’t make it all the way through his books (they get kind of repetitive after the first 150 pages or so), but his New Yorker articles are great, and I’m currently reading (and enjoying) What the Dog Saw, a collection of his best essays.
Two of the smartest people I know can’t stand him, and hate how popular he is among advertising-type people. Ad people are always trying to have a finger on the pulse of culture and new ideas, and to my friends’ chagrin, when Gladwell wrote The Tipping Point he became a marketer’s darling.
Gladwell’s weaknesses are that his writing tends to be formulaic, he’ll stretch to make facts fit hypotheses, and he puts too much emphasis on creating new buzzwords from old ideas. (All of those things are what endear him to hack marketing strategists–he’s just like them!). John Graham-Cumming posted a funny takedown of Gladwell’s quirks earlier today (“How to Write Like Malcolm Gladwell“).
Downsides noted. But I enjoy his writing for three reasons. The first is that he writes empathetically, in the cognitive sense of the word. In other words, he examines issues from the perspective of other people. In still other words, he writes about why Israel missed the signs of an impending Egyptian attack by asking “What was the Israeli spymaster thinking about on the eve of the Yom Kippur War? Why did he miss X, Y, and Z hints? Is that related to why Mr. X at the CIA wasn’t able to connect the dots before 9-11? Were there similar institutional or cognitive barriers in each instance?”
Journalists track down facts and opinions. Gladwell tries to suss out perspectives. There is a huge difference, and Gladwell’s approach is more typical of historians. There are few non-fiction writers who examine modern life the way Gladwell does, partly because it takes a lot of research and insight (and guts) to write about the motives and ideas of people who are alive to refute your analysis. It’s much easier to do that to, say, Founding Fathers or dead artists.
The second reason I like his writing is that he’s a contrarian. His formula is to take a common belief and present a compelling case for its opposite. Slate does the same type of reporting, to largely the same effect, and I like it there, too.
The third reason I’m a fan of Mr. Gladwell is that he’s an aggregator. He takes all kinds of flack for cribbing material from academia and research papers and articles, but you know what? I LIKE that about him. His chapter in The Tipping Point about the educational value of Sesame Street vs. Blues Clues is fascinating, and I’d never have the time or inclination to read all the studies he cites. The same with his New Yorker article comparing NFL scouting to elementary school teacher evaluations. Summarize it for me, Mr. Gladwell. Keep it shallow and digestible…I’m a busy man, and I only care about the topic you’re writing about because I know you’ll present only the best tidbits.
Perhaps someday I’ll be too smart to take Malcolm Gladwell seriously. I wonder what I’ll use for beach reading when that day comes.
It isn’t so much that I dislike Malcolm — he’s a wonderful guy. I even enjoy his books: Tipping Point was a great collection of essays proving what everyone learns in basic social psychology about power law curves. If a speeding truck looked like it was going to hit Malcolm Gladwell in the middle of the street, I’d TOTALLY push Seth Godin out into the path to soften the impact.
The danger of reductionist aggregator is that the only nuance that survives is that which the author chooses to emphasize.
I’m not so sure that I think of him as a contrarian, though: dig into some Rushkoff or some Taleb, heck, even some Salem-Baskin (and he’s an ad guy!)
They’re on my list. Well, except Taleb…Gladwell wrote a profile of him, so I already know all about him and his ideas
kidding