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An angry, confused book
on 8 October 2010
There is a lot that is good in this book, but it needs a good editor. Perhaps Dorothy Rowe is now so famous - and her books so easy to sell - that the publisher feels no need to bother with quality control.
In the early pages she attempts a potted review of scientific culture: long strings of showy items with no coherent argument. OK, she knows about Einstein and Darwin, but must she waste so many pages skimming through her shallow knowledge of deep research? At one point she interrupts a pompous, highly superficial summary of the physics of time to comment on the difference between European and American conventions for setting out calendar dates! At times it reads like a script for that most accomplished of trivial show-offs, Stephen Fry.
And that outburst of mine brings me to the main point of my review. What shouts from this book is not insight or understanding, but anger. Rowe is angry with her parents, with her teachers, psychologist colleagues, and competitors. She rages against ad-men and bankers. And she is rather cross with Tony Blair, too. (But then, who isn't?)
Underneath her anger she has very interesting, even wise things to say. But she interrupts herself constantly. She can't stick to her track for more than a page or two before leaping onto one or other of her horde of angry hobby horses.
It's a shame. A good editor could have cut the length by at least 50%. That would make the book at least ten times better.