Deep Work: Rules for Focused Success in a Distracted World by
Cal Newport
My rating:
4 of 5 stars
I don’t waste time writing long reviews for books I hate, so let me say that. But I need to be critical of Deep Work because there are really solid and good ideas, but there does seem to be a whole lot of privilege and confirmation bias at work as well. In an interview with Newport for the Hidden Brain podcast (
https://www.npr.org/transcripts/75433...), the host, Shankar Vedantam remarked, “I'm wondering if some people might say your advice is really advice for people who, in some ways, are at the top of their food chains.” Vedantam also addressed the impact of one’s “deep work” on other people, something that Newport does not discuss with any…depth. I remember cheering when Vedantam took him to task (gently) because I had spent much of the interview thinking about how little resemblance Newport’s “case studies” had to my own life and experience. Yet, there was enough that I decided to read the book.
There are some serious gaps in Newport’s logic toward application of the “deep work” model. First, he seems reticent to accept neurodiversity, or at least address it. He merely notes: “If you instead remain one of the many for whom depth is uncomfortable and distraction ubiquitous, you shouldn’t expect these systems and skills to come easily to you.” (37). Fair enough, but what’s missing is any kind of guidance or attempt to explain how to meet these additional challenges. I’ve become quite engaged in mindfulness (something Newport addresses), and I admire how Jeff Warren (at Ten Percent Happier) talks about his own ADHD and how that works with mindfulness, rather than just saying “it’s a challenge”. I also bristled a bit at Newport’s underlying assumption of elite and economic goals. Take for example, this footnote: “Giving students iPads or allowing them to film homework assignments on YouTube prepares them for a high-tech economy about as much as playing with Hot Wheels would prepare them to thrive as auto mechanics.” (31) Deep Work, it would seem, does not allow for modern creativity, unless that creativity translates into computer programming (Bill Gates), or the countless other high-economy examples Newport uplifts. He seems to know the “less-skilled” (his words) exist, but fails to acknowledge that much of the status of high-skilled workers and the “superstars” can at some point be attributed to resting on the shoulders of those less-skilled folks. And it might surprise him to know that there are those academics (like this one) who don’t lie awake at night worrying about our h-index on Google Scholar.
Newport does seem to tone down the privilege in the “Deep Work is Meaningful” section, which resonated more than the initial “Deep Work is Rare” section. He surprisingly connects it to ideas of craftsmanship and even a “glimpse of the sacred.” (89). He references the medieval quarry worker’s creed, quoted in The Pragmatic Programmer: “We who cut mere stones must always be envisioning cathedrals.” (89) That’s one framing of the sacred, I suppose. But there is value in the doing, sometimes, and that more…Zen…concept seems to elude Newport.
In Part 2, Newport presents four rules designed to “reduce the conflict” of being a “disciple of depth in a shallow world.” (97) It is statements like the latter that made me roll my eyes on more than one occasion. He does, however, allow for different philosophies of deep work or deep work scheduling, at any rate: the monastic, bimodal, rhythmic, and journalistic. Here Newport seems to do the most to engage with a multitude of circumstances and approaches. The section on ritualizing behavior rests on a plethora of pre-existent productivity literature, but even here, Newport sometimes favors the privileged. His advice to “make grand gestures” as a way to motivate oneself to deeply work is supported only by the single example of J.K. Rowling checking into a ritzy Edinburgh hotel to finish the last of the Harry Potter series. In addition to Newport’s point that the “grand gesture” (in this case paying more than $1000 per day for a hotel room) can be motivating, I assume being able to pay that (or take a “Think Week” like Bill Gates, or summer on a tiny island in Maine like Alan Lightman), might also be a rather motivating factor. Perhaps some examples of more economically realistic grand gestures (for those who might not make six figures or beyond) would solidify the wisdom behind this directive.
I found Newport’s small section on architecture and layout most capitvating, particularly because he called upon his own lived experience at MIT, instead of making grand pronouncements about things he does not engage with (e.g. social media). He is critical of the open-floor plan “serendipitous creativity” model, and his argument for “hub-and-spoke” architecture, wherein “both serendipitous encounter and isolated deep thinking are supported” (131) is very convincing. And perhaps the greatest take away moves the architecture into the land of metaphor: “Expose yourself to ideas in hubs on a regular basis, but maintain a spoke in which to work deeply on what you encounter.” (132)
Another truly valuable discussion is that of the “lead vs. lag” measures of 4DX (The Four Disciplines of Execution). Newport suggests that to measure one’s success, there need to be “lead” measures that will drive the success of the “lag” measures—in other words, short term goals that are fundamentally important to larger objectives. This echoes the wisdom of many productivity systems and philosophies, including David Allen’s exhortation to remember the “steps” to get to the destination.
It is Rule #3 that I found the most…vexing: Quit Social Media. Despite not using it himself, Newport can’t help but be rather judgmental about Facebook and Twitter, but his caution against the “any-benefit” mindset is useful. He asks us to do a true “cost”-benefit analysis of using a network tool, remembering our ultimate baseline. He reveals his own bias when he notes: “We don’t have to argue about whether these authors are right in their personal decisions to avoid Twitter (and similar tools) because their sales numbers and awards speak for themselves.” (194) The baseline metric for Newport is clear, and it arises every time he attempts to work with his own biases. All that said, the diagnostic Newport offers to apply to our own social media behavior is valuable, but flawed in one key aspect: it does not take into account how others wish to engage. Networking does imply communication with people other than ourselves. The deep work model is rather uncompromising, and this extends to Newport’s critique of social media. While a phone call to a dear friend to catch up might be more meaningful for me, perhaps it is important to them that I’ve seen the latest photos of their children on Facebook. Missing from the discussion (although Newport briefly notes it) is the nuance of WHO is in our Facebook networks, HOW we engage with it, and the question remains that using Facebook and having a “thriving and rewarding social life” aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive or one-size-fits-all. Still, asking ourselves how much FOMO informs the time we spend online is useful.
Newport’s practical advice may not be so practical for a lot of people, but that doesn’t remove its value. Like any productivity model, Deep Work has a lot to offer—both philosophically and strategically. I plan to implement many of his suggestions during my sabbatical, and I’ll be running a few “experiments” of my own. While Newport’s perspective that the road to hell is paved with tweets seems a bit biased and hyperbolic, we could all likely benefit from an audit of what “depth” means for our own lives and workflow.
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