The Undoing Project by Michael Lewis Didn't Do It For Me

I've been a longtime fan of Michael Lewis, having read a half dozen of his books over the years. I recently started reading The Undoing Project and for some reason wasn't getting into it. I then decided to re-read Moneyball, the bestseller that later became a motion picture starring Brad Pitt and Philip Seymour Hoffman. As with the first time, I again thoroughly enjoyed it.

This prompted me to go back and continue with The Undoing Project. It's not the first time I started a book, failed to connect and had better luck the next time. It was until my third effort with Malcolm Lowry's Under the Volcano that I not only engaged with but devoured it. Unfortunately, my second effort here yielded little fruit. If words were food, The Undoing Project was sawdust. Why was this?

I decided to go to Amazon and see what other readers were saying. Many liked the book very much, but there were others who expressed my sentiments as well.

--> This is my 10th or 11th Michael Lewis book and this is the only one I couldn't finish and did not enjoy. 

--> When this book was chosen for my book group, I looked forward to reading it. I have read other Michael Lewis books and totally enjoyed them, even when the topics were not a subject I was particularly interested it. Baseball! Derivatives! Why not psychology? Lewis' books always had energy and told an interesting tale. Not so with The Undoing Project. Nearly halfway through I stopped to read some reviews of the book because I had no idea what it was about or where it was going.

The book opens with Lewis talking about the challenges basketball teams have in determining who will succeed and who will not in pro basketball. Just as Moneyball focused on the Oakland A's, this book details challenges the Houston Rockets faced. 

Somewhere along the way it seemed I missed what this had with Undoing, but I hung in there, wondering where this would all be going. I'd read enough Lewis books to know that he is a storyteller, enjoys gathering details and sharing them in story form. Unfortunately, as these stories unfolded I was unable to see where they were all going.

There is a certain amount of trust that readers put in writers. If they trust the writer they continue reading, believing there will be a payoff for their efforts. The Fables of Aesop always had a payoff, but they did not require endless pages of story to get there.

The central story here is that of the friendship between Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky, two Israeli psychologists and economists who did research on heuristics (among other things) in Eugene Oregon. Their work ultimately garnered them a Nobel Prize.

After the lengthy lead-in we arrive at the main event, which is presented in a meandering story that winds over the river and through the woods, but never arrives anywhere. Or at least, after passing the midway point, did not give me confidence that there was a destination. It felt like the story was supposed to be the destination. And I was not alone in this sentiment. Here's another Amazon reviewer:

--> I'm a huge Michael Lewis fan but this book was awful. It was tedious and trying to understand where he was going with the book was hopeless.

I can't say the book was awful. It just wasn't engaging, and I would suggest part of the reason had to do with the writing. Tedious is probably an accurate word. As a result, I lost faith that the story was taking me somewhere.

Be sure to read the positive Amazon reviews before you make up your mind on this one. This review is just my two cents from the peanut gallery.

Related Links

My review of Malcolm Lowry's Under the Volcano

Moneyball Worth More Than the Price of Admission (A Review)

Throwback Thursday: Under the Volcano, a Movie Review

“The novel explores the Consul’s past and present, relates his private doom to the tragic fatalism of the Mexican scene…” ~ Stephen Spender

Under the Volcano is a novel written by critically acclaimed Malcolm Lowry. The book eventually became a film starring Albert Finney and Jacqueline Bisset, directed by critically acclaimed John Huston. Both the film and the book failed to reach a wider public despite the brash, braying praise of critics.

Like Lowry, I lived in Mexico for a time, from fall 1980 till late 1981. During that time we traveled to a number of places including two trips to Cuernavaca. I loved Cuernavaca, the city where this story primarily occurs, the Land of Eternal Springtime where Cortez established his winter palace. Like Lowry and the tragic hero of his novel I, too, was present in Tepotzlan on a holy day when the dark-faced peasants in loose white clothes and wide hats brought out Christ and the Virgin from the shadows of monasteries, parading, holding high large displays and brightly colored pillars, burned incense, celebrating intently the blended religion of the peoples.

This story covers 24 hours in the life of an alcoholic, his last 24 hours, with his singular preoccupation on where he will get his next drink, simultaneously immersing the reader into his internal despondency, hopeless self-wreckage, introspection and hallucination. It is a tragic life culminating in a tragic end, perhaps intended to be the mirror of a forlorn culture shrouded in apparitions of death.

I originally took an interest in the book because I’d read that it was supposedly structured like the Kabbalah, the chapters being a series of steps toward enlightenment. My first effort to read it in the late 80’s left me flat, however, and I placed it back on the shelf for a couple years. The second attempt ended about a fourth of the way through with the same frustration. A couple more years past, and upon beginning the story I was transported inward to the heart of the characters, the culture, and the bleak futility of the hero’s quest.

John Huston took this very complicated ball of knots and attempted to straighten it out into its essential story. The film, inadequate to the task, did capture facets of the book’s essence. There is no way it could capture the spinning surrealistic writing, compelling inner monologues, and painfulness of Lowry’s heartfelt bloodletting.

Malcolm Lowry wrote the first draft in Mexico while living in Cuernavaca in 1938. Director Huston does an outstanding job of giving the feel of Mexico during this time frame. And the film brings to life many vivid memories of our time there…

Despite its shortcomings, I found myself still moved by the film. This is the second time I’ve watched it and this time I did enjoy the performances of Finney and Bisset, whom some have been especially critical of. Finney is nearly perfect throughout in his portrayal of a wrecked man. Bisset is equal to the task she must perform, confused, frightened, compassionate, pained.

The weakness of the film is perhaps the feeling that it was put together by a nostalgic older director who could have done more with the music, the camera work, the edits. Great films often grab you from the opening images, credits and soundtrack. I found myself having to overlook what I considered a weak appetizer that insufficiently lured me into the depths of our hero’s heart, mind, soul, struggle.

Huston could have done more with the film, but did not. Perhaps it is because of the era. He did not feel it necessary? I can’t say. The grandeur of his foreign setting is hinted at, but hollow. I cannot blame the actors for this. Finney was remarkable throughout, almost over the top. Bisset’s broken heart shone through with clarity.

It’s a good film and a rich, but difficult, book. If it is too depressing or too convoluted and enigmatic, you’re under no obligation to finish. But if you can’t put it down, then don’t.

“Time is a fake healer anyhow. How can anyone presume to tell me about you? You cannot know the sadness of my life…. Alas, what has happened to the love and understanding we once had?” ~ Geoffrey Firmin, Under the Volcano

All photos on this page are original, shot in Kodak Ektachrome, property of Ed Newman

Copyright 1981, Ed Newman

Permission to use is granted when attribution is cited.

THIS BLOG ENTRY WAS ORIGINALLY POSTED SIX YEARS AGO TODAY. The stock market dropped 700 points the previous day. 

Local Art Seen: Duluth All Souls Night

Last night Duluth celebrated a Northland version of Dia de los Muertos, or more commonly called All Souls Night. Its origins, date back to Aztec times in which the goddess Mictecacihuati, Lady of the Dead, was celebrated. It’s actually a two-day festival that corresponds with the Catholic holidays of All Saints Day and All Souls Day. For those unfamiliar with South American history, one of the Spaniards' most potent tools for subduing the native culture in the Americas was the blending of Catholic religious ideas with pre-existing legends here. (e.g. Quetzlcoatl)

In preparation for the celebration of Dia de los Muertos people built altars (called ofrendas) which they decorated with sugar skulls, photos of deceased loved one, and the favorite foods and beverages including “pan de los muertos”, which is bread of the dead. So it was that the Great Hall in the Depot was filled last night with numerous altars emulating these ofrendas.

From 6:00-8:00 p.m. the celebration included drums, a parade around the library, stilters, and dancers accompanied of shouts of jubilation. Face painters were busily applying black and white face paint to all who were willing to wear the death masks. The festivities here then moved up to Sacred Heart where there were more displays, a poetry reading and music. Historically the event is an acknowledgement that death is a part of life. Locally, it is one more venue for the display of Mary Plaster’s enormous creations, though a whole host of people and organizations deserve the big thank you for making this happen.

For me, this Day of the Dead is associated with memories from my own year in Mexico. The larger than life puppets that Mary Plaster first began creating as part of the Heart of the Beast Puppet Theater in South Minneapolis have their roots in these Mexico celebrations. Plaster, who lived in Mexico for three years herself, experienced first-hand a Dia de los Muertos there. I myself saw a similar celebration with its parade and enormous plaster figures while in Tepotzlan during Easter weekend in 1981 and it made an impression on me, so much so that Tepotzlan and nearby Cuernavaca became the starting point of my novel The Red Scorpion.

Three years later John Huston filmed Malcolm Lowry’s Under the Volcano there in this setting on the southern slopes of the mountain where Mexico City resides. It is a region rich with history, a place of intersecting cultures, values and expectations. On its list of the 100 best English-language novels of the 20th century, the Modern Library gave Lowry’s book a rank of #11. It is a story immersed in symbolism, its center being the collision of darkness and light in one man’s soul, on the Day of the Dead. Once you get into a certain frame of mind the closer you look, the less you see, until it is much too late.

But that's another story. And having passed through one more Day of the Dead in Duluth, we next approach Thanksgiving... and the Black Friday that follows in its wake. Darkness and light in a perpetual dance around a center that never holds. As it was in the beginning...

Photo top right courtesy Jean DeRider

Under the Volcano

“The novel explores the Consul’s past and present, relates his private doom to the tragic fatalism of the Mexican scene…” ~ Stephen Spender

Under the Volcano is a novel written by critically acclaimed Malcolm Lowry. The book eventually became a film starring Albert Finney and Jacqueline Bisset, directed by John Huston. Both the film and the book failed to reach a wider public despite the brash, braying praise of critics.

Like Lowry, I lived in Mexico for a time, from fall 1980 till late 1981. During that time we traveled to a number of places including two trips to Cuernavaca. I loved Cuernavaca, the city where this story primarily occurs, the Land of Eternal Springtime where Cortez established his winter palace. Like Lowry and the tragic hero of his novel I, too, was present in Tepoztlan on a holy day when the dark-faced peasants in loose white clothes and wide hats brought out Christ and the Virgin from the shadows of monasteries, parading, holding high large displays and brightly colored pillars, burned incense, celebrating intently the blended religion of the peoples.

This story covers 24 hours in the life of an alcoholic, his last 24 hours, with his singular preoccupation on where he will get his next drink, simultaneously immersing the reader into his internal despondency, hopeless self-wreckage, introspection and hallucination. It is a tragic life culminating in a tragic end, perhaps intended to be the mirror of a forlorn culture shrouded in apparitions of death.

I originally took an interest in the book because I’d read that it was supposedly structured like the Cabala, the chapters being a series of steps toward enlightenment. My first effort to read it in the late 80’s left me flat, however, and I placed it back on the shelf for a couple years. The second attempt ended about a fourth of the way through with the same frustration. A couple more years passed, and upon beginning the story I was transported inward to the heart of the characters, the culture, and the bleak futility of the hero’s quest.

John Huston took this very complicated ball of knots and attempted to straighten it out into its essential story. The film, inadequate to the task, did capture facets of the book’s essence. There is no way it could capture the spinning surrealistic writing, compelling inner monologues, and painfulness of Lowry’s heartfelt bloodletting.

Malcolm Lowry wrote the first draft in Mexico while living in Cuernavaca in 1938. Director Huston does an outstanding job of giving the feel of Mexico during this time frame. And the film brings to life many vivid memories of our time there…

Despite its shortcomings, I found myself still moved by the film. This is the second time I’ve watched it and this time I did enjoy the performances of Finney and Bisset, whom some have been especially critical of. Finney is nearly perfect throughout in his portrayal of a wrecked man. Bisset is equal to the task she must perform, confused, frightened, compassionate, pained.

The weakness of the film is perhaps the feeling that it was put together by a nostalgic older director who could have done more with the music, the camera work, the edits. Great films often grab you from the opening images, credits and soundtrack. I found myself having to overlook what I considered a weak appetizer that insufficiently lured me into the depths of our hero’s heart, mind, soul, struggle.

Huston could have done more with the film, but did not. Perhaps it is because of the era. He did not feel it necessary? I can’t say. The grandeur of his foreign setting is hinted at, but hollow. I cannot blame the actors for this. Finney was remarkable throughout, almost over the top. Bisset’s broken heart shone through with clarity.

It’s a good film and a rich, but difficult, book. If it is too depressing or too convoluted and enigmatic, you’re under no obligation to finish. But if you can’t put it down, then don’t.

“Time is a fake healer anyhow. How can anyone presume to tell me about you? You cannot know the sadness of my life…. Alas, what has happened to the love and understanding we once had?” ~ Geoffrey Firmin, Under the Volcano

All photos on this page are original, shot in Kodak Ektachrome, property of Ed Newman

Copyright 1981, Ed Newman

Permission to use is granted when attribution is cited.

Harry Gold

It’s Monday again already, and our short story hour is upon us. Today’s original short story is actually a crock of plagiarized material, refined and reconfigured for my own storied purposes. It was inspired by a literary incident ten or so years ago involving a novelist whose book turned out to be half plagiarized.

I forget the actual details, my safe haven being a poor memory when it can be used to my advantage. What I recall is that in response I wanted to try to write a story that was 100% plagiarized. My version, however, involves taking sentences from a variety of sources, mixing it into a stew in which there is the appearance of design and intent. Like much abstract or surreal art, or a Rorschach test, the mind synthesizes the details and images to infer meanings that are likewise self-revelatory.

Obviously for continuity’s sake I had to use the same name throughout, so I did alter a couple of the sentences to insert my primary character, Harry Gold. In retrospect I wish I had identified all my source sentences, but alas, I recall these few. A couple lines from Under the Volcano by Malcolm Lowry. A sentence from something by Gide. A sentence from Eric Hoffer’s True Believer.

Of the making of many books there seems to be no end. Not everything has quality, but there’s plenty of quality out there. And many great sentences. Reading the great writers is somewhat akin to watching a magician. I’m constantly impressed when I read a simple sentence that is constructed in a manner I just never would have thought of myself. It may be vivid or vague, but it carries a latent spark of dormant kinetic energy that is explosive, and sometimes even profound.

Sometimes there is nothing so wonderful as a good sentence.

Harry Gold

The rule of "nothing unessential" is the first condition of great art. --Andre Gide

After dinner Harry Gold reads us the last two chapters of his La Nuit. The next to last especially seems excellent to us, and Gold reads it very well. Being rich is an occupation in itself, particularly for people who arrive at it via parachute in middle life.

We go out for a walk -- William Williams, Gold and myself. Never has it seemed such a long way to the top of this hill. The road with its tossing broken stones stretches on forever into the distance like a life of agony. It is hot as a furnace on the street and we sweat profusely.

I bring up the question of ownership. "Who owns language? Can a man words? Sentences? The turn of a phrase?"

Gold's face becomes agitated, defiant. "It's mine now. No matter what they say, it's mine."

It occurs to me that Williams doesn't like this reply, but there are no others to turn to and we are forced to accept it. Gold feels guilty because his work is heavy with borrowing. Ideas, phrases, sentences, even whole paragraphs have been shamelessly appropriated, pilfered without attribution, plagiarized.

Harry adds, in a low voice, "The will of man is unconquerable. Even God cannot conquer it."

I can not bear to see him like this. To myself I think, Why do you do these things? In human affairs every solution only serves to sharpen the problem, to show us more clearly what we are up against. I consider how sages of the future will describe this historic day.