Reviews and Comments

Orbital describes the cyclical journey of six astronauts, with plenty of tasks but no real destination. They are tethered to the earth, just as human behaviour is tethered to its animal roots. And while the astronauts, much like humanity itself, have professed aspirations, they are ultimately moving parts in the interconnected whole of the cosmos.

Samantha Harvey offers beautiful prose, composed of distinct but interconnected strands of thought. It might sometimes feel that style trumps substance, but I don't think that is the case -- I think form and content are entirely congruent in a set of reflections that sometimes conflict and sometimes align.

This has been an amazing read. The writing is beautiful and the substance offers so many philosophical reflections regarding human nature, our place in the cosmos and the fate of our world. It's also not just a bag of ponderings: there's a structure to it, but it's careful and tentative.

Originally on Goodreads (November 2014):

Probably the most important book of the year. Climate change challenges anyone's pet ideology: it makes Marxists doubt their utopian materialism, forces laissez-faire capitalists to consider the peculiarities of externalities and makes anarchists wonder whether mutualist instincts are strong enough to deal with invisible, delayed forms of exploitation.

Klein argues for a planned economy, but like most contemporary socialists she subscribes to a rather anarchic, decentralized system to uphold norms like carbon emissions and tax fossil fuel burners. The details are sketchy - Klein unfortunately prefers a sophomoric discussion of Baconian thought to an in-depth look at how you can empower the State without reinforcing clientelism - but the general idea makes sense.

If anything, Klein conveys the urgency of the climate challenge. Right-wing populism has ensured that we are already too late and that environmental disasters are much worse than they could have been. If your political flavor of choice does not prevent worsening of the current situation, you might just as well throw it out of the window.

It's a well-written introduction into predictive processing as a key feature of human cognition. This is a framework that got me very excited in the early 2010s and I still believe it offers very deep insights into what cognition is (and more speculatively, how it probably arose).

Yet in the end the book did not do much more for me than provide an entertaining read. If you want a crash course on the predictive mind (with some excursions into the extended mind), then do pick up this book. If you're already relatively informed about the topic, there may not be enough on display here.

The great thing about It's Not You is that it manages to pull off two very difficult, even problematic things. First, it's a self-help book about a psychologically heavy topic. Replacing a therapist by a book is risky, as it cannot create the dynamics that therapist and client have and while it might be the best option for those who have no access to therapy, it can keep away others from more sensitive, tailor-suited help.

Secondly, that aforementioned heavy topic is recovery from abuse by people with narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) and adjacent behaviours. As rare as this diagnosis is in clinical practice (there's even been an effort to remove it from the DSM entirely), it has become a very popular label in online spaces, leading to both increased awareness and misuse of the construct.

There's therefore a lot that could have gone wrong with this self-help book on dealing with NPD, but it didn't. The expertise of Durvasula shines through in its illustrative case studies and clear categorisations, but mostly the book benefits from the fact that it's about the people who suffered the abuse. This means that any point about whether the narcissistic label is correct or not is moot. If you're trying to recover from emotional abuse, if your sense of self has been broken down by rage fits, gaslighting, persistent criticism and other manipulative tactics, it doesn't really matter whether NPD is a valid diagnostic construct and how it applies to your particular abuser. What's important is how to deal with the psychological fallout of such abuse.

Durvasula shows that there's clear patterns to recovery from such abuse. The main point she drives home is the title of the book: if you experienced narcissistic abuse you tend to blame yourself (but it's not you) and you tend to identify with the person you've become during the abuse (but it's not you). The way out is to change these beliefs, which is a difficult and slow process. The best way to do it is to fully remove the abuser from your life, but Durvasula recognises this is not always possible and that some people will need to balance their own recovery with coping strategies to handle the close vicinity of those who abused them.

What I found especially interesting is that Durvasula does not address belief change as some sort of cognitive behavioural therapy. She rather emphasises the key role of emotions in processing the abuse and finding a proper sense of self. While I am personally not on board with talk about "authentic selves", the argument that maladaptive thought patterns are best broken down by prioritising feelings and impulses is convincing (and interesting in its own right, outside of the scope of this book). The book contains several exercises that target both cognitive and emotional processes and that are geared towards defining oneself outside of the abusive relationship.

My only issue with the book is that while Durvasula obviously embraces a relational approach to psychology, leaving behind the individualism that plagued clinical psychology, here she still tends to reduce these relations to single, dyadic ones in her proposal of radical acceptance. That proposal in itself is fine - you will need to accept that an abuser will not change, since not accepting that is what actually gives more openings to the abuse - but it skips over the complexity of real, systemic relations. Especially in the case of NPD or high trait narcissism, the abuser is likely embedded in the victim's social or even familial network and might even be considered a kind, charismatic figure there. This means that protecting yourself against such a person is not enough-- either because the abuser starts targeting loved ones as new victims, or starts using them as tools for further abuse. Durvasula knows this all too well and has addressed it elsewhere, but in It's Not You these systemic difficulties are not given a lot of attention, although they are likely to interfere with advice such as reclaiming an identity and finding belonging.

That criticism aside, this is a great book for anyone interested in recovery from destructive emotional abuse, or who is struggling with the self-blame and identity crisis that can follow prolonged abuse.

This book is easy to love. In fact, I've already given out multiple copies, as there is so much to like about an argument that draws on evolutionary biology, neuroscience, physics and psychology to argue in favour of free will. Mitchell proves to be the right person for the job, too, as he treats the different fields he traverses with curiosity and rigour.

That being said, the work is essayistic rather than analytical, exploring what a naturalist account of agency could be like, before reflecting on what that would mean for the debate on free will. This exploratory approach may not be for everyone, but I enjoyed it very much, especially because Mitchell brings in important and relatively novel insights to make his point, such as the active inference literature from cognitive science or indeterminacy in classical systems from physics. There's a lot about these topics that is tentative or even ambiguous (which is fun) and it is testament to how development in cognitive science are putting expressiveness and individuality back at the core of the research programme.

It does help that my personal convictions are very much aligned with those written down by Mitchell, but I do think the book can be enjoyed by readers with an opposite perspective -- e.g. those who believe free will is not compatible with determinism and that neural and mental processes are deterministic. What I am not sure of, however, is how accessible the book is for those who are not already attuned to cognitive neuroscience. Mitchell's style is definitely smooth, yet the concepts he deals with are pretty high-level and might require some hard work by readers with relatively low inclusion.

Regardless, if you find the issue of agency and free will fascinating, this is probably one of the best current works out there, whether you're interest is mostly biological, mostly cognitive or mostly philosophical.

If you think P&L's analysis is any good, I have some ivermectin to sell you.

Ik geef niet heel snel negatieve oordelen over boeken. In de regel betekent een lage waardering vooral dat je een ander boek had moeten kiezen. Bij DMMD ligt dat denk ik anders: Bregman zet hier een mensbeeld uiteen waar ik volledig achtersta. Hij verbindt daar politieke consequenties aan die grofweg lijken op de mijne. Zijn onderbouwing is gestoeld op de inzichten uit sociale psychologie, antropologie en archeologie die ik ook zou gebruiken.

Dit had een kat in het bakkie moeten zijn. Vijf sterren omdat het niet mogelijk was om meer te geven. Maar dat was niet zo.

Vanaf het begin van het vak boek schermt Bregman met zaken die net niet kloppen. Aanvankelijk schatte ik het in als niets ergers dan zwakke retoriek: het is weliswaar niet écht zo dat het westers denken volledig gegrond is in een cynisch, negatief mensbeeld, maar die stelling kan een prima polemisch vertrekpunt voor een stevig betoog zijn. Dat daar slachtoffers bij vallen (de homo economicus wordt in zijn korte samenvatting wel erg laat in twijfel getrokken, ondanks de NOBELPRIJS die daarvoor is uitgereikt aan gedragseconomen) is slordig, maar soort van acceptabel.

Echter, dat betoog is ook niet zo stevig. Er is nauwelijks een pagina waarop ik me niet afvroeg of Bregman ooit verder dan het persbericht van zijn geciteerde studies is gekomen. Waarom neemt hij de relatieve prestaties van chimpanzees op een werkgeheugentaak meteen voor lief, zonder aandacht te geven aan de extreme trainingsverschillen tussen mensen en dieren? Waarom bespreekt hij de cognitieve vermogens van peuters niet in de context van maturatie, maar als absolute waarde die je naast andere dieren kan leggen? En waarom plaatst hij zijn zinnetjes over de keerzijde van oxytocine niet in het nogal belangrijke theoretische kader van dreiging en in-group versus out-group? Dit gaat zo verder: Bregman neemt de lezer via stellige uitspraken mee langs uiteenlopende disciplines om in verschillende domeinen de klok te horen luiden.

Met de voorbeelden die ik gaf wil ik geen spijkers op laag water zoeken. Het gaat niet om details die ik vanuit een of andere vakidiotie belangrijk vind, maar die niet boeiend zijn voor het grote verhaal (al zijn die er ook, met z'n 'gelukshormoon' en 'knuffelhormoon'). De gebrekkigheden of slordigheden hebben echt invloed op de waarde van Bregmans conclusies. Door de lezer geen deelgenoot te maken van de manier waarop inzichten tot stand zijn gekomen of van de nuances die aangebracht kunnen worden, wordt hij feitelijk uitgesloten van actief meedenken. Dat gebeurt trouwens niet alleen door slordige besprekingen van geciteerde studies: er worden ook hele lijnen van onderzoek, zoals die naar geweld tussen H. sapiens en Neanderthalers, weggezet met een kort 'geen greintje bewijs voor'.

Ik vind dat de lezer van een non-fictieboek meer verdient dan dat. Sterker nog, het idee dat de mens van nature een prosociaal wezen is dat geneigd is tot samenwerking en spel verdient meer dan dat. Want de bewijslast is er al tijden -- hoezeer Bregman zich in dit boek ook probeert te branden als een revolutionaire denker -- en de nuances van de sociale psychologie schetsen een beeld waarin dat goede precair is en (via mechanismes als bovengenoemde bedreiging van de in-group) kan omslaan in agressie en onderwerping. Er valt een rijk verhaal te vertellen over de omstandigheden waarin we met elkaar samenwerken en de omstandigheden waarin we elkaar tegenwerken. Dat is minder sexy en overkomelijk dan de media de schuld geven op basis van een studie uit Girl Scout Magazine of iets dergelijks, maar biedt uiteindelijk wel een deugdelijker inzicht in die paradoxale, meervoudige menselijke aard.

Wel een extra ster voor het noemen van de vossenstudie - zie voor een excellente bespreking daarvan [b:How to Tame a Fox (and Build a Dog): Visionary Scientists and a Siberian Tale of Jump-Started Evolution|31374512|How to Tame a Fox (and Build a Dog) Visionary Scientists and a Siberian Tale of Jump-Started Evolution|Lee Alan Dugatkin|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1475990246l/31374512.SY75.jpg|52063785].

I loved this book. Even though I am not a particular fan of 'big idea' books, Range had me hooked from beginning to end. The reason for this is that it honestly goes beyond the surface idea of generalists being useful and attempts to figure out why generalism works, how you could train people to become generalists and how you can get generalists to shine in an organization. This is done in true interdisciplinary fashion: by jumping across fields and connecting the dots between psychology, cognitive science, organizational science and economics.

This book comes as a strong recommendation to generalists worldwide (even the closeted types), those who happen to work in interdisciplinary education, those who believe that education should be about recipes, flowcharts and checklists (boo) and those who are doing or thinking something else entirely, because you never know what may happen if you play around with a new idea.