Ever since Mind Wide Open's release in the States three months ago, when I began bombarding you with posts about my sales breakthroughs and glamorous media appearances, I've been planning on posting links to critical reviews to keep the blog from seeming too full of itself. For a while it looked like we were going to dodge that particular bullet, but fortunately the UK edition came along and generated the kind of review that causes some writers to lock themselves up in a closet for a month. It ran in The New Statesman last week, and it literally ends with the command: "Do not read this book."
Plug that quote on the top of the paperback cover and we're ready to go! Abbie Hoffman would be proud.
It turns out to be one of those reviews that appears to be written about some other book, where the reviewer has either willfully ignored or failed to understand the book's underlying argument. He spends most of the review critiquing the ambitions of consciousness studies and evolutionary psychology, despite the fact that I began the book by saying that it would have nothing to say about the question of consciousness, and that its general argument was significantly different from the evolutionary psychology approach (though not necessarily incompatible with it.) The question of brain science as a lens for personal self-awareness -- understanding the details of your own life, and not just how the brain evolved, or how the magic of conciousness happens -- doesn't really appear in the review, though it is the essential subject, not to mention the subtitle, of Mind Wide Open.
At one point, he refers to me "padding" the book with "autobiographical ramblings." There was another reference to prominence of "personal anecdotes" in a semi-critical reader review on Amazon, so allow me a few sentences to make something clear. If you'd like to write a critical review of Mind Wide Open, by all means go ahead, but it's not sufficient to throw out the allegation that the book contains autobiographical material and have that stand as a criticism on its own. It's like critiquing a physics textbook for having equations, or a novel for only containing made-up people. The book was designed to be a personal journey into brain science, an attempt to see if neuroscience's insights would change the way I thought about myself. So personal anecdotes are central to the argument, not some kind of padding. The way to criticize the book is to actually discuss the many insights that I describe: mindreading, oxytocin and stress, the different attention tools, the amygdala and my fear memories, mood congruity, and so on. (The New Statesman review doesn't mention any of these, of course.) You can say that these insights are 1) not accurate because I've got the science wrong, 2) too subjective to be empirically useful, 3) not really insights because they are commonplace ideas that you don't need brain science to illuminate. Any of those would serve as a valid critique, though of course I'd probably be inclined to argue with your interpretation. But simply denouncing the idea of a personal anecdote just makes it sound like you don't understand what the book is trying to do.
Okay, rant over. Thanks for listening.
Updated 5/2, 8:42 PM: Paul Myers comes through with a brilliant dissection of the bizarre logic in the New Statesman review.