Best-selling author and New Yorker writer Adam Gopnik investigates a foundational human How do we learn—and master—a new skill? For decades now, Adam Gopnik has been one of our most beloved writers, a brilliantly perceptive critic of art, food, France, and more. But recently, he became obsessed by a more fundamental matter, one he had often meditated on in The New Yorker : How do masters learn their miraculous skill, whether it was drawing a museum-ready nude or baking a perfect sourdough loaf? How could anyone become so good at anything? There seemed to be a fundamental mystery to mastery. Was it possible to unravel it?
In The Real Work —the term magicians use for the accumulated craft that makes for a great trick—Gopnik becomes a dedicated student of several masters of their a classical painter, a boxer, a dancing instructor, a driving instructor, and others. Rejecting self-help bromides and bullet points, he nevertheless shows that the top people in any field share a set of common qualities and methods. For one, their mastery is always a process of breaking down and building up—of identifying and perfecting the small constituent parts of a skill and the combining them for an overall effect greater than the sum of those parts. For another, mastery almost always involves intentional imperfection—as in music, where vibrato, a way of not quite landing on the right note, carries maximum expressiveness. Gopnik’s simplest and most invigorating lesson, however, is that we are surrounded by mastery. Far from rare, mastery is commonplace, if we only know where to from the parent who can whip up a professional strudel to the social worker who—in one of the most personally revealing passages Gopnik has ever written—helps him master his own demons.
Spirited and profound, The Real Work will help you understand how mastery can happen in your own life—and, significantly, why each of us relentlessly seeks to better ourselves in the first place.
Adam Gopnik is an American writer and essayist, renowned for his extensive contributions to The New Yorker, where he has been a staff writer since 1986. Born in Philadelphia and raised in Montreal, he earned a BA in art history from McGill University and pursued graduate work at the NYU Institute of Fine Arts. Gopnik began his career as the magazine’s art critic before becoming its Paris correspondent in 1995. His dispatches from France were later collected in Paris to the Moon (2000), a bestseller that marked his emergence as a major voice in literary nonfiction. He is the author of numerous books exploring topics from parenting and urban life to liberalism and food culture, including Through the Children's Gate, The Table Comes First, Angels and Ages, A Thousand Small Sanities, and The Real Work. Gopnik’s children’s fiction includes The King in the Window and The Steps Across the Water. He also delivered the 50th Massey Lectures in 2011, which became the basis for Winter: Five Windows on the Season. Since 2015, Gopnik has expanded into musical theatre, writing lyrics and libretti for works such as The Most Beautiful Room in New York and the oratorio Sentences. He is a frequent media commentator, with appearances on BBC Radio 4 and Charlie Rose, and has received several National Magazine Awards and a George Polk Award. Gopnik lives in New York with his wife and their two children. He remains an influential cultural commentator known for his wit, insight, and elegant prose.
It was somewhat a disappointment. I usually try to find something good in any book I read, even if I wasn’t impressed overall. I tried reading it in the morning, I tried reading it at night, during the day, on my days off, and the result was always the same - I was nodding off. So, it may be a good investment if you have trouble falling asleep, otherwise I see no point reading this. The author knows how to write, he knows how to structure sentences, he likes fancy words, he couldn’t keep me interested at all. He’s a master. Technically, it should have been near perfect. But it lacks magic.
Some books you read to learn something, and you may dislike the style, or writer’s voice, or even disagree with their attitude, but you learn something. Other books you read to get another perspective, to see the familiar through someone else’s story, you don’t gain any factual knowledge, but you enjoy the experience, you marvel at how their mind works, you live through it, you feel. Well, that was neither. This is a book written was the sole purpose of writing a book. It doesn’t teach anything, it doesn’t move you, it doesn’t entertain you. You just read it as a grounded ten-year-old, forcing your mind, dragging your eyes to the next line of text.
A few minutes in I already knew I wasn’t enjoying it. But you don’t judge a book that quickly. About halfway through I had a passing feeling it was getting better, but that didn’t last longer than three pages. It has a couple witty observations, but that doesn’t make a good book. If it was split in a number of essays, I’d probably enjoy some of them, but put together, it just didn’t work for me at all. I loved the thought provoking observations about family.
Overall impression: a dull book with a few quirky, witty observations. Not worth the effort it takes to plow through.
I received an ARC through NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
How to rate The Real Work? What classification do I give it? Who is the target audience for this book? Besides people who love Gopnik like me, I mean?
Gopnik explores the idea of mastering a task. He tries to learn how to do several types of work. All of the types of work take many years of practice before mastery is achieved. Gopnik works with a baker, an artist, a dancer, a boxer, and a driving instructor.
As always, Gopnik writes about his experiences masterfully (if you will), combining a picture of the actual work encounters with Gopnik's brilliant philosophical musings about the experiences.
I read this ARC I won on Goodreads and felt a sense of obligation to finish the book, or I wouldn't have. I was bored and sometimes felt as though I were reading a stream of consciousness. Whatever I was supposed to take away from this, I did not. There were a few good nuggets mixed in here and there, but it felt like a chore to finish this book.
Gopnik's New Yorker essays are consistently good, so I was expecting to like this book. Well, I did, sorta kinda -- but if you are thinking this might be some sort of how-to book, like the 10,000 hours of practice you need to achieve Mastery of a skill: it's *definitely* not that. It's a very mixed bag of essays on Gopnik's personal life and experiences. I'm guessing at least some of these essays were already in his notes as drafts. Certainly the business of the Real Work, professional magicians talking shop, that Gopnik calls "the most entrancing, the most rapturous shop talk of any people I've ever known." Spoiler alert: NOT, for me anyway. And I'm not sure how much energy I want to spend on his Seven Masteries, which mysteriously became twelve essays. I did take some notes, and vividly recall a few things. The magic stuff was (for me) pretty dull. The Mechanical Turk! He read a whole book about that. You can read the lede at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mechani... for a quick idea. It was a hoax, but a good one. Huh.
The second essay (not a full Mystery) is very odd. Gopnik had the idea that he should take life-drawing lessons, to somehow flesh out his street cred as an art historian. Trouble was, he couldn't learn to draw! He tried hard, and failed miserably. His last attempt was to sketch a very sexy nude woman, and it's entertaining: he's reduced to holding out his hand to try to scale his drawing, just like any stereotypical beginner. Huh.
More essays that I won't spend time 0n: two more on magic (dull and unconvincing), one on taking driving lessons (Manhattan apartment-dwellers mostly don't drive), a full Mystery on the billion-heartbeats business (hummingbirds vs. elephants (etc.), has moments.)
Then a sweet essay on learning to bake from his Mom in Canada, which was one of the book's highlights for me. His parents were preternaturally energetic, and at the time of Gopnik's baking lessons, had retired to a hobby-farm in rural Ontario, with some very unusual features: they had built a full-size Japanese tea-house, an Elizabethan playhouse, a Pantheon, and the Porch of the Caryatids from the Acropolis in Athens: "the Greek girls were about six feet tall, and they looked pretty impressive."
Passing by more stuff, we reach my next highlight, a full Mystery: the Bullet-Catch! This is a remarkably hazardous stunt that has apparently killed somewhere between 6 and 12 magicians. The trick is to catch the bullet in a titanium cup in your mouth. "Always catch the bullet !" The wiser course is taken by Penn & Teller, who fake the catch with a blank cartridge and sleight-of-hand. The hard core use a small-caliber rifle, a laser sight, and must trust their assistant's marksmanship. Like I said, many fatalities. Truly a crazy stunt. But popular with audiences!
And on to shadow-boxing lessons for Adam (long story), and dancing lessons with his 20 year old daughter. They learn to foxtrot, which turns out to involve the same moves as shadow-boxing: jab-jab-cross. Very strange, but entertaining. They took their dancing lessons in Central Park, to tunes from an old-fashioned boom-box. Frank Sinatra singing "Fly Me to the Moon."
For me, three stars. Has moments. He does write well.
I'm not sure I've ever read anything by Adam Gopnik that I DIDN'T like, and "The Real Work" doesn't buck that enviable trend. What could have been a rather trite gimmick, a neophyte apprenticing himself to masters of various arts and metiers, becomes, in Gopnik's hands, an exercise in wonder. The humility with which he approaches these endeavors is endearing, and the deep respect for the mastery he finds all around him, not just in his tutors but across the folds of society, is contagious. Throughout the arc of the book, the reader may start to see the world a bit differently, noticing the care and, yes, mastery, in the execution of some of the things we may take for granted every day, and appreciating for perhaps the first time how our lives are made more beautiful, more interesting, and even possible at it's most basic level through the carefully honed accomplishment of others.
At a juncture in our collective lives when felicity is in short supply, Gopnik's effortlessly gorgeous writing, his keen but sensitive perspicacity, and his unfaltering admiration for his subjects make "The Real Work" a tender jolt of joy.
Author Adam Gopnik says in his introduction to The Real Work: On the Mystery of Mastery, that it is a “self-help book that won’t help. Won’t help, I mean, in the shallow sense of helping you immediately to do the things the book is about doing better. . . Yet I hope that it might help you better see yourself as a self, a constructed self, made out of appetites turned into accomplishments.”
The format of the book seems to spring from his desire to not “sum up too neatly the point or moral of each adventure as it happened. One of the biggest points of all is that every accomplishment is rooted in a practice. You master it by the totality of what you’re doing. One can reduce a sauce to its essence, but you have to be careful not to cook off the alcohol entirely.”
This book is thoughtful, well-written, entertaining, and useful in the sense that it made me reconsider what it is to learn a new skill and achieve mastery, and why these achievements are important, what it means in terms of how we humans are built and find meaning.
There are six chapters/essays that are stories about learning to master certain activities: drawing, making magic (card tricks and illusions), driving, baking, overcoming phobias, boxing, and dancing. Interspersed among these chapters about specific humans doing specific things are broader, more philosophical essays that still reference engaging specifics, about the nature of learning and mastery. I liked this quite a bit more than I expected to, given the modest GR rating of 3.1 stars. In fact, I may buy myself a second-hand copy to re-read, so I can better absorb and internalize some of the concepts Gopnik articulates so charmingly.
While the book is entertaining, I would not call this a funny book, although I did laugh out loud once. But it was an Elmer Fudd reference. And that will get me every time.
If there is one thing my mother taught me, it’s that you should always clean when you’re angry. The results are great! The work calms you down. It’s so much better than what you could otherwise do. As a result of reading this high falutin nonsense, my chicken coop is spotless and my fly traps are clean.I felt a kind of zany glee dumping gallons of dead flies in a bucket and thinking “I prefer this to that book!”
I somehow deleted my original review of this book - my first 2 star rating, wow! - and now I don’t have it in me to rewrite it. Suffice it to say around p100 he goes off on a truly irrelevant Islamophobic rant, which reminded me, didn’t Susan Orlean do the same thing in her Los Angeles library book a few years ago? It’s one thing on OAN and Fox News, quite another, much more insidious thing for some of the Finest Writers of Their Generation to be idiotic and racist, which has the tragic side effect of making it look sophisticated to be racist. And the glorious blurbs of the intelligentsia who also failed to notice the Islamophobic rant because it is so baked in to our understanding of ourselves we don’t even notice it…oh Edward Said, were you still with us, what would you say?
This is a study of the nature of accomplishment, Gopnik will explain. The doing, which begins by doubting. And practice, which is the root of accomplishment. And accomplishment, which is the mystery of mastery. The mystery of accomplishment will unfold in a sequence of seven “Mysteries of Mastery” wherein he will become the apprentice and reflect on the nature of his work and many things beyond it. From art to magic, sourdough to driving, the choices he makes are as mysterious as the experience of seeking mastery. Therein lies the challenge of this book. It is filled with insight and beauty that share space with magic and card tricks. I could not reconcile trickery and slight of hand with the heights of language he reaches in other sections of the book, however magical mastery might seem.
The Real Work: On the Mystery of Mastery by Adam Gopnik explores how we master a task, such as drawing, dancing or magic tricks. Such tasks take many years of practice before mastery is achieved. On the surface, the premise of this book sounded interesting, but the reading was something else altogether--slow, laborious, and at times nap-inducing. Gopnik makes some interesting observations about learning and mastery, and his writing is quite good; however, this book lacked a spark, which is ironic given its topic.
I received a complimentary ARC from W. Norton & Company and all opinions expressed are my own. Publication in March 2023.
Why is it some people aspire to mastery something rather than be mastered by something? How is it some are drawn to expertise while others are satisfied with mediocrity? What methods help the truly great achieve as they do? These are some of the questions author XXX sets out to answer in his book, The Real Work: On the Mystery of Mastery. The book is full of interesting stories and thought-provoking anecdotes. It may just inspire you to better yourself in a small but profound way or you my just enjoy being taken along on the journey of exploration. Either way, it’s a book worth reading.
I really wanted to like this book, but in the end, it had little value. I've enjoyed Gnopik's.essays in the New Yorker so I thought this might be a good read. It wasn't. With no bibliography or notes, one has to assume this is all conjecture on Gnopik's part. The book wasn't focused and was over-laden with dry case studies that drone on, often off on tangents. One can only assume that Mr Gnopik fulfilled his last book in his publisher's contract, because he no doubt "mailed it in" on this book and didn't give a shit about his readers..
The Real Work was not what I expected. The book started as an historical, psychological, and scientific exploration into what Mastery means and how to attain it, but in later chapters anecdote and self-reflection became the main theme. That didn’t make for a bad book per se. latter were interesting and thought-provoking but not what I was expecting. As a travelogue into the author’s journey to understanding his process, motivations, and obstacles to learning new things, this was an easy-to-read and even inspiring book. But the title and description had me hoping for a more abstract discussion about what Mastery was, and for this, the book was a bit sparse.
If you are looking for something that will help you consider the challenges to mastery you face (and why those should not stop you from trying new things), The Real Work is a worthwhile read. If your goal was to read a deeper exploration into psychology and science, you might consider looking elsewhere.
I enjoyed Gopnik's New Yorker pieces and had a vague deja vue feeling over this essays. Some I liked better than others. Drawing and driving lessons were both insightful and funny. But, overall it's true, only by trying out we can begin to understand the mastery of real work.
I recently read Ericsson's Peak, which takes on the topic of peak performance and mastery from the cognitive psychology perspective, and thought this would be an interesting companion piece. Alas, it was not. These are literary ruminations on the topic, and while they'd be perfectly at home in the New Yorker, after Ericsson's presentation, I found these frustratingly surface-level and meandering. More about the romance of mastery, from the POV of the audience, rather than a concrete examination or deep dive into the path of achieving it.
While I did like the fact that he was taking up new pursuits at and after 60 (driving, boxing, dancing), his pursuits were about adequacy, not mastery in any real sense.
The blurb line "... writer Adam Gopnik investigates ...How do we learn―and master―a new skill? " feels completely misleading, as does any labeling of this as self-help.
The idea of learning about mastery and how those who have it attained it is appealing. Unfortunately, I found this book very hard to read as it wandered and did not seem to consistently focus on mastery. The author finished one section with claiming what we thought was mastery was not (magic) and summarized another that mastery is sometimes letting go (driving). It felt more like a handful of stories that the author wanted to include. The book was not long but read slowly. I read one sentence three times and still didn’t understand it.
Because he’s so competent at his profession, it’s hard to picture longtime New Yorker writer Adam Gopnik lacking skill at anything. Perhaps that’s what makes his latest book, THE REAL WORK, so intriguing. In a dozen erudite essays distinguished by his characteristically elegant style, Gopnik interrogates aspects of the subject of mastery by immersing himself in a variety of pursuits --- from baking to boxing --- to produce what he modestly calls “a self-help book that won’t help.” Nonetheless, it might allow his readers to “better see yourself as a self, a constructed self, made out of appetites turned into accomplishments.”
The title of Gopnik’s book comes from the term magicians use to describe the “accumulated craft, savvy and technical mastery that makes a great magic trick great.” Unsurprisingly, he devotes considerable attention to that immersive subject. He hangs out with sleight-of-hand master Jamy Ian Swiss, “a master of the mystery of performance, of the way that misdirection is not merely a magician’s tool but a kind of permanent principle of human psychology.” And he visits with illusionist David Blaine while reflecting on the mystery behind the terrifying stunt of catching a bullet in one’s teeth. “[T]he trick to the bullet catch is catching the bullet,” he writes.
Gopnik’s journeys into other realms are equally absorbing. Possessed of a graduate degree in art history himself and a working art critic, he recognizes that despite the enjoyment he derives from drawing, his skill is modest at best. He apprentices himself to Jacob Collins, an artist well-known for his work in the classical realist style, who is gentle with Gopnik’s feelings of “helplessness and stupidity and impotence that I had not experienced since elementary school.” Collins helpfully imparts some of the tricks of the artist’s craft, like seeing a “snooty butler” in the chest of Gopnik’s first nude model and simply drawing that.
But Gopnik doesn’t limit himself to the field of performance or the arts. In one entertaining chapter, he describes learning how to drive in the mayhem of New York City traffic at the same time as his 20-year-old son. He’s aided by a colorful instructor whose tips for surviving in the city’s traffic --- as he cheerfully tosses out terms like the “noodle” and the “bee” --- allow Gopnik, as his comfort on the road slowly grows, to see how driving “was in another way civilization itself: self-organizing, self-controlling, a pattern of agreement and coalition made at high speed and, on the whole, successfully.”
In one of the volume’s most personal entries, Gopnik describes his painful, decades-long struggle with paruresis --- the inability to urinate in public spaces --- and his decision to try to overcome it. With the aid of a therapist who himself once suffered from the phobia, Gopnik traverses New York City on his bicycle (in the process acclimating himself to an activity far more perilous than the one he would do almost anything to avoid), seeking out restrooms where he can work to master his affliction.
Interspersed with these personal experiences are sections, seven in all, grouped under the heading the “Mysteries of Mastery.” In these, Gopnik detours into more subtle aspects of his subject --- among them, the murky provenance of S. W. Erdnase’s The Expert at the Card Table, “the holy volume of modern magic.” One of the most moving is his exploration of the mystery of music. He ponders this “most amazing” of mysteries --- how we “first take sound and turn it into music, and then take music and turn it into meaning.” In that chapter, he draws on his experience as a librettist to consider some of the challenges of collaboration, observing that “without enchantment, music and words mean nothing.”
Gopnik closes with an account that marries his shadowboxing lessons in a Queens gym with the dancing instruction he undertakes alongside a daughter with whom his relationship is loving but at times prickly. Here, he discourses on everything from his admiration for Benny Leonard, the famous Jewish lightweight from a century ago, to the role of masculinity in the work of writers like Hemingway, Mailer and Fitzgerald. He brings his exploration full circle, linking driving, dancing, boxing and drawing to “form a permanent human rhythm, heartbeat-bound, of small actions building bigger blocks.” And he concludes with a lovely scene of him dancing with his daughter one evening in the depths of the COVID pandemic on the esplanade above Central Park’s Wollman Rink, as he realizes that “the real work is what we do for other people.”
In a reassuring summing-up, Gopnik writes that “we can do some things badly and still feel good about having done them, and some things well and still feel badly about not doing them better. Equilibrium of the mind is achieved by doing both.” THE REAL WORK is a worthy bookend to Tom Vanderbilt’s BEGINNERS: The Joy and Transformative Power of Lifelong Learning, whose middle-aged author launched himself into a variety of tasks like singing and surfing, seeking to achieve at least a basic level of competence. There’s no dispute that Adam Gopnik has mastered the art of eloquent, informative prose, something that’s manifest in this gently encouraging book.
I'm always fascinated by the subject of mastery, how people get it, what it feels like, the steps towards it. Usually when I'm reading about it I'm hoping it will spark something in me to make it do it myself.
I think that's what I found disappointing, personally, when I read this book. It didn't give me that momentary inspiration. I never really felt like I was reading about mastery. Gopnik said plenty of interesting things, but it didn't make me feel anything. In fact, I was often distracted by the details of things he was learning. For instance, the quirky personalities of his many teachers. They're interesting people and characters, but the fact that they've mastered a thing isn't the main thing that came through for me, if that makes sense.
His first teacher, for instance, is an artist he meets at a dinner party. The main claims he teaches people to draw, but based on the descriptions of their relationship he sound like a terrible teacher, at least of beginners. If someone told me to come to their studio where they would begin to teach me (who finds drawing difficult to the point of being a superpower), and then handed me a bit of statue and told me to draw it for two hours, occasionally coming over to give advice like, "I would argue that the space you're asserting here in this corner could be seen as something much spacier...I think you could allow these intervals to breathe more without betraying the thing you're drawing," I'd be pretty ticked off. Like, I was "taught to read" by the Electric Company and my literature professors, but they weren't doing the same thing. Don't give me the latter when I obviously need the former.
That sometimes led me to just marveling at how when he decides to learn something, he's got the ability to do a lot of private lessons, which is a whole other subject... but I think it contributed to the feeling that I was reading more about somebody's experience taking private lessons in something rather than trying to do the thing well.
So while the book was enjoyable enough, I wasn't sure what I got out of it in the end, though I appreciated meeting some of these quirky characters.
I started reading this in the wrong mindset and could feel I was missing the point. What mindset was it .. I don’t know … it’s hard to describe. Maybe a recipe? Maybe self searching for my own mastery? By the end I felt more in the groove of the intention of the book.
I think the chapter titles were misleading, causing me to start in recipe mode — like ‘here is mastery disassembled’, ‘here are the component parts’. But it’s really not written that way despite the chapter titles. There is too much overlap of all those parts to say one exists outside the other.
At times it reads a bit as naming dropping (which Adam Gopnik is far more smart and connected than I causing me to seek out context to make sense of him sometimes). If you can get past that and don’t allow yourself to compare Gopnik’s stories of pushing himself to understand life by working to find some kind of mastery himself, it can be a delight. It is possible to come out on the wrong side of this feeling like Gopnik is self absorbed. But again, that misses the intent.
There are those I think who are driven by mastery like Gopnik. They are the thinkers and entrepreneurs and performers and entertainers and artists. And we should admire them for their mastery. And this book I think might make those people ache for the more perfect version of themselves or their work. Comparison is a necessity and can be a good but also an evil.
Masters, above all else, are learners. Learners are ever moving forward. I’m glad Gopnik notes that the masters we admire are the ones who with humility recognize there is always someone better and what they personally have to offer at the present time is the best they can at this given moment.
Sadly I think the majority of us don’t think about mastery. We go about the business of living almost by rote. I think we admire mastery when we see it but it’s a fleeting moment of joy. I think we miss our own small masteries we accomplish in our days because they aren’t particularly flashy and as such we miss out on a lot of opportunities for joy.
This book was a treat that I devoured voraciously. It takes the reader on such an amazing journey through so many different subjects, all on the topic of the ability of humans to master so many amazing skills. It was though provoking and intellectually stimulating and the writing is MASTERFUL!
The author introduces us to some unique topics and gives us some background on both the subject and perhaps some of its history, and, in the case of the topic of magicians, the background of some of the masters in the industry. In other chapters we are taken on some of the author's personal quests, trials and tribulations and filled in on some of his background as well as that of his family, which I found absolutely fascinating. (I didn't know that there was a PhD program in Mathematical Logic!). His parents' retirement "farm"? sounds like a fairytale town that would delight grown ups as well as children.
I found Gopnik's writing mesmerizing. It drew me in and made me concentrate long and hard as it tried to go over my head and I kept reaching for it and drawing it back in, not letting it get the better of me.
His drive and ability to learn new things in the later part of life are such a positive force and good example for all of us. And there's a bad pun at the beginning of this paragraph--however, driving is one of those things he took on in this later stage of life and his description of his driver's ed teacher is heartwarming. We could all use someone like that in our life!
All in all, I heartily recommend this book AND this writer.
Why three stars? Well, to be fair and honest, I wanted to give it 3.5 stars, but I've never successfully done a half star on here, and I didn't find it quite a 4-star book.
Now, I am sure the author is a fine person, and arguably has more successful books than me, who currently has zero books written.
I would also add that I think he'd be very interesting to talk with, and therein is the crux of my rating.
Some of the best conversations can start at point A, meander gently to the next several points, spin off to several widely ranging tangents, end up at the beginning, or land somewhere in the middle, with the participants wondering where they started, but not unhappy with the course the discussion took.
So that's great for conversation, but a book that does that leaves you feeling disjointed, confused, and often annoyed.
Now, any of his tangents may have been an interesting article or book on their own, but as it came out, it left me asking "What's his point?"
Of course, that may beg the question of why I kept on reading after the first chapter. And I would say that there were enough points of interest throughout the book, however disconnected they may have been, that I was hopeful the overall narrative may have improved. But alas, it was not to be.
Nonetheless, some may find the writing enchanting. So, feel free to give it a try. This is merely my opinion.
I can’t remember why I added this to my bookshelf. I think it might have been a recommendation from M Gladwell. I thought it was an extremely thought provoking book, and I can already see how it has impacted my way of thinking about work and mastery. Here is my problem, way too often I found myself wondering either (1) why am I reading this book? And (2) why is the author telling me about this? And no matter how I thought about it, I couldn’t always find the answer.
I would suggest to the author that he needs to help the reader find the answer to the “so what” question. It is hard to be pulled along in his retelling of his own mastery when I can’t see why I should care? This book rings of self-help (which the author acknowledges) but it is really a philosophy book, and I think if that was more apparent, it would be easier to bring the reader along your journey….. normally I love it when author’s bring their own lives into their books, but in this one, I just felt annoyed. I don’t understand why your life experiences are supposed to be meaningful enough to me for me to listen. I am not saying they aren’t, but it is hard to hear that many stories back to back and still feel like…. I am somehow missing the point.
To be fair, there are some great ideas here. I would have edited it to half its length.
This is a series of personal essays about learning how to do things in (what the author politely refers to as" later middle age. Gopnik focuses on questions like: How do we get good at doing things? How can we reach satisfaction when we're not particularly good at something? And, how do we learn new things later in life vs. when we were younger? There are some humorous stories about his attempts to learn new skills, including driving, drawing, and boxing.
This is a spirited and profound collection about discovering the bliss of accomplishment and pursuing a new hobby without needing to do it perfectly. Ultimately, the takeaway is that accomplishment matters more than achievement. We live in a society driven by achievement, where we can get caught up searching for the next shot of achievement and approval. However, we can focus more on our accomplishments: the inner-directed, self-made, and self-nourishing activities we choose to do. Learning a new skill can be very empowering, and it seems to be when we genuinely shine the most.
While the book is mostly about Gopnik’s work (real work) as he apprentices alongside many masters, he never gives the sense of mastering any of the tasks himself. He observes the masters in various disciplines, and notes the ubiquity of mastery, but if you are expecting him to spell out the ingredients for success, you will be disappointed. There are however excellent reflections on performance, hints at understanding what one may not necessarily be designed to do, while also understanding how one’s predispositions and lived experiences may set them apart in their journey towards mastery and how, once mastered, the blurred signal of art can impart meaning/feeling.
Gopnik’s writing is beautiful and I love how he can illuminate deep meaning in small, every day tasks. There are many gems in this book, and it is worth reading for that reason, but the final product doesn’t feel finished, somehow. Maybe I was expecting something a little more polished, where it is easier to find a single narrative around mastery. This book didn’t shed much light on mastery for me, but was a lovely way to learn more about one of my favourite authors!
The subtitle, ‘The Mystery of Mastery,’ would have been much the better title for this reflection on mastery, but there isn’t much else that I’d change about this book.
Gopnik tries to understand what it takes to master skills in a variety of fields, sometimes by simply spending time with masters, and sometimes by attempting to learn the skill himself: be it magic, dancing, bakery, painting, boxing, urinating (he suffers paruresis) or driving. He reflects philosophically on the similarities in mastery between fields, while keeping the tone light.
Like all good books, though, this is actually about a huge number of other topics, from Gopnik’s relationship with his aging parents, to the nature of life, and to his relationship with his children.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and it provided much food for thought.
Well, Gopnik certainly puts the “master” in “mastery.” I found the book crushingly masculinist. Apparently women are incapable of mastery except for…baking.
Why are there no great female magicians? Learning magic requires that an apprentice be taken under the wing of a mentor and, like many trades, has been and often continues to be closed to women and minorities. Some forms of mastery require access and Gopnik is woefully blind to the access his straight white maleness entitles him to.
One chapter is literally about physical control of the penis. By the end we’re trudging through a chapter on boxing. Bleck.
He ends his chapter on baking: “Women … remember everything. Bread forgives us all.” Can remembrance be a form of mastery? Here it’s a counterpoint to his obliviousness to his wife’s accomplishments. Bread forgives. Maybe his wife can. This reader cannot.
Although Gopnik conflates the two, in the end this book is about masculinity, not mastery.