"Outliers" by Malcolm Gladwell

I first became aware of this book when Paul mentioned it on his blog a while back. I picked it up and it sat on my bookshelf for a few months, but finally read it yesterday. I enjoyed the book, and will be reading the author's other books, The Tipping Point and Blink.

Outliers studies all of the factors that lead to great successes (things that lie far outside the normal range) that have nothing to do with the people themselves. The common belief is that there are some people who were born into poverty, for example, and were able to achieve great feats- and wealth- with spirit and determination. While strong spirit and determination are certainly factors, they are probably less responsible than is generally thought.

An example from the beginning of the book states that most (an overwhelming number, in fact) of Canada's upper league and professional hockey players are born in January, February, or March. Are people born at the beginning of the year more innately talented at hockey than someone born in September? Of course not; but it turns out that the cutoff date for youth leagues is January 1. Someone who turns ten on January 2 is in the same league as someone who doesn't turn ten until October or November. That extra year of physical maturity often leads to team scouts picking these boys for higher league teams, where the boys practice more and receive more and better coaching. By the time they're eighteen they actually are better than their later-born counterparts, but it all started with being a little older when the league started.

The book is full of examples and stories that illustrate that the world works on a much larger and more complicated scale than we often consider, but in the end this provides more complete and rational answers. Are Asians better at math by sheer virtue of being Asian? No, but a different number system might be a start, along with rice patties. (You'll have to read the book in order to put all of that together, but I assure you, it makes quite a bit of sense.)

In then end, that's what I took away most from the book: stuff makes sense if you look deeply enough. If you see a pattern, there's a reason. The outliers in the world, statistical anomalies like Canadian hockey players, Bill Gates, the Beatles, and the fact that fourteen of the seventy-five wealthiest people of all time were born in the United States between 1831 and 1840- they all make sense. And to me, the greatest reward of learning is the hope that, eventually, it'll all make a little bit more sense.

"The Old Patagonian Express" by Paul Theroux

One good thing that I did take away from Bryson's Notes from a Small Island was curiosity about an author he'd mentioned once or twice, Paul Theroux. I had never heard the name before, but apparently Theroux is quite prolific and is considered the source for the best travel writing, especially when it comes to traveling overland by train. I looked over a couple of his titles at Barnes & Noble and settled on The Old Patagonian Express.

Theroux, studying a map at his home in Massachusetts, is able to trace a train route from Boston all the way through the Americas into the heart of Patagonia, the southern portion of Argentina. The story begins aboard a Boston commuter train and, sure enough, ends in the dusty backwaters of Patagonia ("Nowhere is a place," writes Theroux). The journey in between the two points- more important, of course, than the destination- is full of colorful characters, adversity, and some danger, all expertly and fascinatingly described by Theroux.

Some- if not most- of the places Theroux visits on his way are not beautiful; the landscapes are often barren and the people who live there are tough individuals, usually living in poverty. Despite all of this, Theroux maintains a narrative tone and though the landscape varies very little at times, he is always able to keep his observation fresh. He does not repeat himself, as Bryson did, but instead keeps a keen eye. The writing itself is often more interesting than the places it describes.

But that is not to say that Theroux does not find himself on some adventures, too. The riotous and frightening atmosphere of a South American soccer match, the border-crossing made in a hitched ride, and his experiences with train travel in general are only a few. My favorites are the story of an Irish ex-priest ("I wish I could, but I can't write. I'll tell you what, Paul- you write it. It would make a good story, wouldn't it?") and Theroux's time spent with the famous writer and poet Jorge Luis Borges.

To say that The Old Patagonian Express is about Central and South America is inaccurate. It's a book about traveling. I often think about the days of travel before the printed word: those who did travel also took on the responsiblity of carrying news and descriptions from place to place. They were welcomed guests who were expected to "sing for their supper", to share their exciting, interesting, and alien stories. Reading this book was like that. It was like inviting someone into your home to tell you about a place you've never been, equal parts entertainment (which is not to say fiction) and education (which is not to say boring).