This is a collection of Malcolm Gladwell essays. Unlike some of his other books where he has a clear topic and something to keep coming back to, this book is just meandering essays which often go nowhere. Often, he concentrates on insignificant details, as if he were writing a novel in the Victorian age. It feels like he needed to pad his word count for the articles at times, so he writes paragraphs about how it feels to arrive at someone's house or someone's office. Unlike Oliver Sacks, Gladwell has neither the backing of research or a way with words to make the text interesting. I find myself skimming through much of the text because it just gets so tedious to follow his meandering trains of thought. And if you're lucky, the essay might come to some sort of point or conclusion, or it might just end on some minor punchline. Overall I'd call it entertainment non-fiction.