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From boxing to baking: the joy of learning new things

Adam Gopnik’s new books celebrates the mastery of skills, something that is sadly neglected in the education of children

April 4, 2023 15:03
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6 min read

Adam Gopnik is in demand. Six hours before we meet online, the New Yorker magazine’s long serving staff writer and bestselling author arrived home in New York at 3 am from Austin, Texas, after touring 11 American cities in 11 days to promote his fascinating new book, The Real Work.

His return will be brief as speaking engagements in the UK mean he is due to fly to London the following afternoon.

Seated in front of a wall of books, dressed casually in a grey T-shirt, he says, with an affability that belies his lack of sleep, “It has been a crazy, crazy time.”

Before he left, Gopnik and his family had sat in their living room watching the Oscars, wondering if they would show part of the opening scene of Tar, in which Gopnik, playing himself, interviews the eponymous fictional lead character, portrayed by Cate Blanchett. Instead, he got namechecked in a joke by the host, Jimmy Kimmel.

“It was hilarious,” he says, laughing. “And it reminds you of the permanent asymmetry of entertainment and erudition in American life, because my phone came alive with texts from people I hadn’t seen in 25 years, and yet I can publish, you know, 6000 words on Proust in the New Yorker, and hear from just two retired professors of French. So it was fun.”

In The Real Work, he talks about another kind of asymmetry, where “we overrate masters and underrate mastery”.

Arguing that the latter is widespread and widely achievable in the modern world, in what he describes as a “self-help book that won’t help”, he steps out from behind his desk in a “series of comic essays about the experience and inadequacies of one human narrator”, and explores what it takes to master skills including life drawing, driving, dancing, baking, boxing, and even bladder control.

“None of it was pre-planned,” he says. “It wasn’t a moment when I said, ‘Okay, now I’m going to do the next thing that will fit into the book.’ All of these things happened organically, over 15 years.”

The actual start point was when his son, Luke, who is now a PhD student in philosophy, became “obsessed” with card tricks. His then school dismissed it as a distraction.

Gopnik, however, had become “very conscious” of how the school system drove children “towards relentless achievement: pass the next test, eventually get into the ideal college, and so on”.

“There was something very empty about it,” he says.

Watching Luke doing something he had chosen for himself, “I was impressed by how happy he was, how absorbed he was, and how meaningful it was to him to be mastering these moves in card magic.”

In the book, he describes how he followed Luke and his teacher, the magician Jamy Ian Swiss, to Las Vegas.

There, he says now, he “began to formulate the idea that there was a quality of accomplishment independent of achievement that was more important to the psychic welfare, and ultimately to every other kind of welfare, for kids, because it was so much about building an internal foundation of a feeling that they could take up something [difficult], and do it.”

While this view of an accomplishment-achievement dichotomy sees us as bigger and more filled with possibility than we might realise, Gopnik is still part of the achievement-driven society he critiques, and is not divorced from its pressures and drives.

“I simultaneously plead guilty to it,” he says. “I’m a competitive person and I’m achievement driven. I want to see my kids get into the right university. And I want to sell more books than the next writer. I don’t pretend to be above it.

"But, I do think that it’s striking how little time we spend in most educational contexts encouraging kids to master things, and how much time we spend encouraging them to master taking the test that reflects the things.”

As Gopnik tries different tasks in The Real Work, he shows how mastery is achieved as a series of “small stumbling steps that then turn into a seamless sequence”. He acknowledges that this is not a novel observation — “It’s sort of fatuous and self evident,” he says — and in fact he had already touched on it in the essay Last of the Metrozoids, which appeared in his book, Through the Children’s Gate.

However, what is not self-evident, he believes, and was something that astonished him as he “willy-nilly fell into these inquiries”, is “not that it’s true, it’s always true”.