This is actually an anti-review - I very seldom do not finish books I have started - whether I particularly am enjoying them or not - I get to the end - sometimes only through bloody-mindedness - but to completion - none the less. This I will not - I'm not going to waste any more of my life on it - according to the Kindle - I am 19% of the way through - enough to know it is not going to get any more engaging. It was recommended to me by a friend whose opinions I take seriously concerning books - the strap line on most copies reads 'what we should know about people we don't know,' - fair enough - interesting premise - it is almost entirely derived from the theories of a psychologist called Timothy Levine - who asserts that in our interaction with people we don't know - we 'default to truth' - humans tend to believe the better of our fellow men until we have overwhelming evidence that the contrary is true - fair enough - engaging as an idea - it might be easy to understand that there would be good evolutionay reasons why this might be the case - but thus far not one of the examples provided by the author to support this deals with a stranger - he might get around around to it later in the book - but I'm not going to find out. If I am wrong - and you have read it to the conclusion - I am happy to have this pointed out to me. Given the fact that Gladwell is a staffer at the 'New Yorker' - I was astonished how crap his writing style is - each to their own - you may want to see what you think yourself - the book won awards apparently. Deeply disappointing for me - having heard great things about it. At least on the Kindle I only wasted five quid - compared to the price of a paper copy. Since we are on the subject - books I refused to finish - classics - 'Moby Dick' by Herman Melville - one of the greatest opening lines ever - 'Call me Ishmael,' - then it descends into the inky depths it so tediously describes thereafter - if only it happened quicker - if the Pequod had gone down like the Titanic - in chapter two - fair enough - it need not have taken nearly six hundred pages of stupefyingly dull and over written text - I am aware that I am swimming against the tide with this book - generally considered a masterpiece of 19th century American literature - the honour of the very, very worst book I never finished - 'American Psycho' by Bret Easton Ellis - if it is a pastiche and satire of the astonishingly vacous times the author describes - he did well. Each to their own - I.