Bursts : Albert-László Barabási

A hundred pounds of stylistic icing on a few grams of cake. Nearly half this book is a sustained (though interrupted) narrative of 16th century Transylvanian military history, mixed with random thoughts about why Google may be evil, and why you sometimes roll a 6 on a die several times in a row.

This text represents epic egomania at its most incompetent. There are no grand metaphors here, as the author seems to have intended, because there are no ideas. It was not meant for a human reader of books; it is a thin magazine article of little insight wrapped in mindless rubbish of interest to the author alone. Reader, beware.

One more thing: If Black Swan thinker Nassim Nicholas Taleb continues to offer laudatory cover blurbs to horrifically inept books like this and like My Life As a Quant, I’m afraid that’s it — the romance is over.






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