Book Review: Malcolm Gladwell’s Books: The Tipping Point; Blink; Outliers and What the Dog Saw.

My daughter said to me the other day “Whenever anyone asks me who I would like to have lunch with if I could invite anyone at all, I always say Malcolm Gladwell”. I have to agree with her. He is a great pop sociology/psychology writer. I have read all four of his books and delighted in the inquisitiveness revealed in his narrative. His view of the world is one of asking ‘why?’ Many of us say “Isn’t that nice?” and he says “How did that happen?”

All of his books have one thing in common – the author’s ability to spin a yarn. His mind is obviously always asking questions and searching through his prodigious mental database of seemingly trivial information to find examples, connections and situations that lend themselves to illustrating the observations he comes up with. He says that there are underlying reasons for why things are the way they are, and that thinking outside the box, honing our skills of observation, and considering factors that at first may not seem relevant will give us a better understanding of the social world around us.

Malcolm Gladwell, the son of an English father and Jamaican mother, grew up in Ontario and got his degree in history from the University of Toronto. He became a journalist, and in 1996 moved from the Washington Post to The New Yorker where he is now a staff writer. So far, we see nothing really unusual or notable there, including his being a transplanted Canadian. But, have a look at any of his four books and you will see an unusually active mind full of information that he has used to illustrate a number of insightful concepts.

The title of his first book ‘The Tipping Point: How Little Things Make a Big Difference’, says it all. Small things or incidents all by themselves may not seem of any importance, but when they appear in a particular context at a particular time, then the rest is history. One of the many examples in his book is the ride of Paul Revere and his success in mobilizing the population. Gladwell says that success was due to Revere’s knowledge of all the key people in the various towns. In essence he had a phone tree in his head and knew who to contact to get things done. He was also a man trusted by everyone so that when he brought news he had credibility.

The next book, ‘Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking’, tackles the idea of intuition. As Gladwell points out, it is the people who have perfected the art of ‘thin-slicing’, or filtering the significant clues from the myriad of variables flying at them, who display great intuition. He again used many examples to illustrate his point and one of them is the choice of Paul Van Riper, a Viet Nam War veteran, to lead the opposing team in a huge US military war-game. The premise was that an anti-American terrorist with support from four religious and ethnic groups was threatening to destabilize the Persian Gulf region. Gladwell goes on to relate the strategy of each side and the puzzling outcome. Of course, being Gladwell, he then explains what happened and what effect that had on US military war games.

His third book, ‘Outliers: the Story of Success’, reveals his analysis of why some people with potential became famous and wealthy and others do not. Examples here range from why many professional hockey players are born in January, why Bill Gates and Steve Jobs rose to software dominance, and what the Beatles and Mozart had in common. He points out that potential is important but so is time and place. You need all three in sync for that winning combination. Would the talents of Bill Gates been nurtured had he lived in the 1800’s, or in Patagonia? Probably not. I have always thought this and here Gladwell confirms it.

The most recent book ‘What the Dog Saw: and Other Adventures’, is another take on factors behind the ‘why’ of a trend, an idea, a hit. A simple observation – lots of types of mustard, but only one ketchup (Heinz) – leads to an analysis of the few contenders for ketchup supremacy compared with Heinz. It turns out that Heinz has that perfect combination of tastes for our mouths that the others just have never matched. An interesting little anecdote here is Gladwell’s lunch date with two professional tasters and their constant parsing of the flavours in each dish they order.

These books are easy to read, entertaining, and informative. There is probably a certain amount of cherry-picking of examples but they do illustrate points the author is trying to make very well. They leave you with a new insight into the 'why' of things and a sense that the back story is as interesting as, and maybe even more informative than the headlines in the news. What would he make of the Tiger Woods story? Now there is a case crying for study and analysis.

Biddy Gloria

The Golden Years – Oh Really?

Along the lines of the last post about my situation with my far-distant hip replacement; I thought I would jot down a few thoughts on another subject which dominates our minds as we find ourselves unable to do various things at home, in the garden and out in this wide world of ours – Seniors’ Homes or Residences.

It is not all a bed of roses.

I have a very good friend who is resident in a seniors’ home which offers assisted living. On my first visit to see her, I thought I was entering a country mansion. In fact the sooner I could sell my house and move in the better. Oh, it was wonderful; a coffee corner, a shop for things like milk, juice etc, an elegant dining room, plenty of lounge space in which to relax, large windows allowing the sun to light up the building, gardens and garden rooms. What more could I ask – and above all, no more cooking and no more trying to figure out what to cook.

My friend has a spacious apartment with a good view which I think she enjoys, but since I see her regularly, I am beginning to realize the mental cost of all these efficient services and attractive settings for her particularly.

My friend, who is semi-paralyzed, gets care to cover the various things she cannot do and this care amounts to approximately 1.5 hours per day. The care and services are reasonable, but the management and billing practices are totally unreasonable. Fortunately, my friend is still very much in charge of her life and is considerably younger than most of the residents. If she sees what she deems to be an irregularity she will go all out to rectify it, which she did quite recently. But, it was like pulling teeth because staff like to pass the buck, disclaim responsibility, don’t communicate among themselves and provide inadequate management. On top of this, at the back of my friend’s mind was that she might ultimately pay for this issue by alienating the people who look after her. A deterrent for a lesser mortal.

We talked quite a bit about this situation, and both of us felt that it was unfair to a number of residents who were not quite aware of what was going on and therefore are oblivious to any ‘improprieties’. They just go with the flow and pay their bills. Then there are the residents who would like to make a statement, but they are old, they are tired and they lack the will to put up a fight. Many small problems can and are settled but the larger problems can become drawn out sagas and that is when the resident looses heart. Sometimes there are relatives who are only too happy to step in and help, but many times there are not and the resident is on his or her own.

Then there are the subsidized residents who really don’t need to care. They are just happy to have a good roof over their head and plenty of comforts. They are totally unaware of what is going on with management or finance because they don’t have bills to pay at the end of the month.

I am perhaps painting a somewhat gloomy picture, but it is not all bad. Living in a seniors’ home does allow you to live out your life in relative peace without the worry and responsibility of house and home which can be bad enough at times for the elderly. However, for myself, I will stay in my own place for as long as I can possibly manage it – I think.

Before ending and as an aside; a friend of mine asked me the other day how I was going to get up and down the stairs in my house (and there are lots of stairs – all 14 of them) in my current condition of restricted movement. I replied that I will be taking up the luge!

The New Year’s Gift

I’ve been quite busy for the last month or so trying to organize elements of our planned trip to the UK. There seemed to be so many things to decide upon; the cost, the method of travel, suitable timing to that we can see everyone who is pretty much scattered at the moment, and also the holiday side of it which is to visit Scotland.

While turning all this over in my mind, I began to experience difficulties with my left leg giving me some discomfort. As the days went by there was more discomfort and discomfort then turned to pain. That was it. Obviously whatever it was it was not going to get better by itself so I had better get to see the doctor.

After the trip to the doctor’s office subsequent x-rays and a return to the office to get the results, I was told a hip replacement is necessary. I am sure I mouthed some not very pleasant language under my breath while all my expectations of seeing the family again fell off the cliff and travel plans are going to wait for at least another year. In fact, I thought to myself, it could well be two years.

Clutching a slip of paper written in chicken scrawl, I went to the referral office and presented the doctor’s request. Finally, after they contacted the surgeon I had named, the earliest appointment is August 8th – and this is just to see the specialist! After requesting a space on the cancellation list (fat chance), I left the office in a complete daze and went back to the car. Last year it was cataracts, this year it is a hip replacement (hopefully), but what about next year? Thank goodness my husband was driving home.

To day, two weeks later, I was back at the doctor’s office to run some ideas by him which would enable me to get to see someone before August, otherwise, I feel I’m going to be in a wheel chair before then. Unfortunately my hands are tied, because he is reluctant for me to go elsewhere to see someone he doesn’t know. Fair enough – although I had not intended doing that. Finally, we came up with a plan – and I will keep you posted, although not in full, gory detail.

I should not be complaining at all, except for the pain because so many people I know have had far worse to put up with, but at least they were able to see their specialist much sooner. Ah well, that’s life, I suppose.

St. Valentine’s Day

I was lying in bed this morning, struggling to remember what day it was – the date more than the day. Finally, after trying to focus on the subject it dawned on me - St. Valentine’s day. A kind of sad/happy day for me. On February 14th, 1876 my maternal grandfather was born on this day and he always received Valentine cards from his granddaughters. On February 14th, 2003, my dearest friend left this planet – my mother. I still miss her so much.

St. Valentine’s day is a time for romance – what romance, I wonder? I should take time to do a poll on how many elderly husbands give anything to their wives on Valentine’s Day. Speaking from experience, I suspect the answer would be not many compared to the younger generation who seem to shower affection on one another on this particular day. Therein is the truth of the matter, I think. When we were young adults we expected the man to use his initiative, and if he didn’t, then we were inclined to chastise him for forgetfulness or neglect! But if you think about it, why do we hold them in contempt now. After all, they are just following years of tradition. As the wounded wife, we could break with that tradition and shower them with flowers or chocolates even if there is no appreciation for such a gesture, except may be the odd grunt.

On an entirely different matter, I have to throw my two bits in about the Olympics so far. An unbelievable masterpiece presented itself for the opening ceremonies and I had to pinch myself to realize that I belong to this beautiful province of British Columbia in Canada. The opening ceremonies were magical and the only downside was the National Anthem. Nikki Yanofsky has a lovely voice, but her rendition of our anthem left me cold, as I suspect it did with many other people. It was such a patriotic moment and with 60,000 people there, they all needed to get in and sing, never mind listen to anyone crooning a national anthem.

It was so sad that the young Georgian athlete met with a fatal accident on the day of the opening ceremonies and my heart really does go out to his parents and family, together with admiration for the rest of the team who bravely marched in the opening ceremonies.

Our first gold medal is yet to come, but Jenn Heil walked away with Silver for Canada which was a massive achievement. In my book, the Olympics are the ultimate sporting challenge and if anyone can achieve a medal – it doesn’t matter whether it is gold, silver or bronze, they are at the top of their game and make us proud. Well done, Jenn and thank you.

This ‘I believe’ that Canadian athletes will inundate us with gold medals tends to make us forget that other athletes from all over the world are going for gold too – not just us, unfortunately!

The Old Biddy

The Roo Olympics

I’ve been thinking about the Olympics – for what reason I don’t know because I am not a winter sports fan and therefore not particularly an Olympic Fan. Still, the ‘Boxing Roo” flag the Australians draped across their part of the Olympic Village, epitomizes the determined spirit that is alive as the Games are about to open. Living on Vancouver Island does not give us the sense of excitement that is perhaps prevalent in Vancouver. But sitting on the sidelines as a spectator does help to put these Olympic Games in perspective from a personal point of view.

I like the idea of the games because they are a once in a lifetime event for the host city to showcase itself to the rest of the world. Even though they require massive amounts of planning and money, I think they are worth it. There is a sense of national pride because the Canada and Vancouver are hosting the Olympics. There is a huge congregation of top athletes in one place for two weeks, not only competing for the highest honour, but also fostering camaraderie among the nations of the world.

The Olympic Games themselves are an historic event, having first been introduced to the world in the 8th Century BC where they took place in Olympia, Greece. They continued on until the 5th Century AD when, for some reason, they were abandoned. The Games were resurrected by Baron de Coubertin in 1894 when the first International Olympic Committee was founded and they have been growing ever since.

Apart from providing the host city and country with substantial economic benefits, there is the benefit of visitors coming from all over the world to see the games, and mingle with local residents, providing a potpourri of friendliness, entertainment, participation, excitement and, of course, a sense of global unity. Factored in is the historic journey of the Olympic Flame travelling from coast, to coast to coast. All Canadians have had a chance to be a part of this unique event and the nationalistic feeling it evoked.


What is the downside? Many people will sum up by saying it is a waste of time and money. Others will rebel and protest because they feel the amount of money necessary to host the Olympics, could be used for something much more worthwhile. The truth of the matter is that money has to be raised to cover the cost of the Olympics and would the same money be raised to cover the cost of deserving enterprises here at home?

In Vancouver there are also problems perhaps not encountered in other countries because of the geographical location of the city. Problems like traffic restrictions on many of the roads in and around the city. Before the games there was a general hue and cry about the lack of space to house visitors, but we now find there is still accommodation available in various parts of the city, and indeed at Whistler itself.

The media is naturally having a feeding frenzy on the subject of a possible ‘snowless’ Cypress Mountain and the deleterious effect they think it will have on the events taking place on Cypress. I suppose one could go on with a litany of woes which are always present at an event of this magnitude. But they will get us nowhere because the Games have come to Vancouver, whether we like it or not, there is snow on Cypress and they are about to open in a no doubt extraordinary fanfare and hopefully to provide many gold medals for Canada.

Book Review: Paths of Glory.

My paternal grandfather was a great outdoors man and although he never once climbed a mountain, he was all set to regale his granddaughter (me) with knowledge of the highest and most famous mountains throughout the world. This of course, included the climbers who scaled these peaks and his hero, George Leigh Mallory. For the uninitiated, George Mallory led two expeditions to climb Everest; one in 1922 and the other in 1924.

When Jeffrey Archer wrote his latest book ‘Paths of Glory’, it became a must read for me because Jeffrey Archer is a terrific story teller. Of course, I also knew about George Mallory and had an appetite to know more so that I would know exactly who my grandfather was lauding.

This is an excellent book and excellent subject matter. It is a true story written as fiction where ‘poetic’ license has been used to a point. However, all the facts are there and they alone are enough to produce a page turning story.

At that time, since Captain Scott’s demise at the South Pole, all eyes were looking for someone to execute the last remaining great feat, that of conquering Everest. Mallory certainly fitted the bill with his climbing abilities, second to none at that time. He was a handsome, charismatic man with a huge amount of drive and determination.

In fact Archer’s characterization of all men and women involved with this mindboggling project was so alive. I felt that I could join in the conversations they were having and feel the same way they were feeling at a time when history was in favour of the still strong British Empire. The story traces Mallory from his childhood, through his teenage years as he develops the art of climbing, through his service in the trenches during the first world war, his career as a school teacher and the ever nagging desire to climb the highest peak in the world – ‘because it is there’.


Mallory made two attempts to climb Everest and after the first experience and subsequent hooplah by the public, he really felt that he had had enough and that he would like to remain home with his wife and children. But, that was not to be since one of the second expedition planners visited Mallory’s wife, Ruth, and asked her to encourage George to go and take charge of the second expedition. This she did, although very much against her will. This book is not only an adventure story, it is also a beautiful old-fashioned love story.

Paths of Glory is also full of humour and I couldn’t help laughing out loud over the description of Mallory getting himself outfitted for the expedition. He went to the local clothing store with a list, and the store owner was busy making useful suggestions, while gathering together what Mallory thought he needed. When asked by the store owner if he would encounter snow, Mallory replied in the affirmative. So the store owner assured him that he would need an umbrella!

This is a stunning adventure of the human spirit, about men who were not deterred by climbing the highest peak in the world and overcoming all the inherent dangers it posed. In fact in some cases, they even made it sound as though they were off to an afternoon tea party, never mind Everest. After all, as Mallory said, “It’s because it’s there”.

The Processed Turkey

Since the last post concerned food – albeit a yummy bread recipe, it has prompted me to tell you about my not so yummy experiences with the Christmas Turkey, because cooking it revealed something which was not known to me.

After collecting the 10lb bird from the store two days before Christmas, we kept it cool in the frig. After completing the necessary preparations before cooking we put it in the oven on Christmas day to cook according to the instructions on the plastic cover.

Removing it from the oven after the appropriate amount of cooking time, it seemed a little on the tough side and my husband felt that it needed another half hour. We gave it another half hour and it was still on the toughish side but we decided to eat it anyway.

I think this last Christmas was the first time I didn’t enjoy my turkey – it was tough, it certainly didn’t have the succulent turkey flavour, and we had no idea what the problem was.

Neither one of us wanted to have cold turkey the following day, so the next best thing was to boil it all up and make a soup. What a mistake! An awful smell pervaded the kitchen and I couldn’t figure out what it was. It was a smell I had experienced once before with some turkey legs cooked for the dog – for want of a better description, I detected a definite smell of stale bleach. Before I finished cooking the soup, the entire content was thrown out and that was the end of our turkey.

A few days later I was in the store that supplied us with the turkey, and I felt, after some cogitation, that I had to mention the turkey and I did. The meat manager was most sympathetic and glad that I reported it. He would get in touch with the suppliers.

A week later the suppliers were in touch with us, and admitted to my husband that just before they are finally packaged, the birds are bleached and rinsed and occasionally one slips through the rinsing stage. In our case, the bird that missed the rinsing stage was our turkey!

We were reimbursed by the company concerned but to me it was one more nail in the coffin of processed food. Yuk!