24 books like Risk Savvy

I love any book that gives me insight into the mind, and this book taught me so much about the tricks of how our minds tackle big and everyday decisions; I recommend it to people on the street.

Kahneman was the first and probably only psychologist to win a Nobel Prize in economics, and it was for this book.

Reading this book a second time, I felt my anger growing from a lifetime of hearing the Church’s teaching on fear: “Ignore it.” This is at least negligence and, at worst, abuse. De Becker makes it abundantly clear that we should listen to our fear (he differentiates it from anxiety) and learn to trust the inner voice (intuition).

We are “experts” in our situation, and he skillfully showed me how to listen to myself and see the signs of danger. I realize I need to re-read the final chapter to integrate the common wisdom of knowing myself, seeing danger, and understanding how fear works. It is possible to have faith in God, manage my fear, and more likely avoid violence without resorting to trite spiritual naivete or blind faith in God.

I loved being challenged with the idea that there is something beyond resilience, that strength can be redefined as antifragility, and the application of this concept is infinite. Often shocked and kept off balance by the unorthodox words he created and paired, the uncertainty as he jumped from ancient Greece to the 21st century in one paragraph, I was forced as a reader to analyze old ideas through a novel lens.

I admit I feel a little smarter and less fragile, but I am still a novice as a flâneur. I agree with “I’d rather be dumb and antifragile than extremely smart and fragile, any time,” though I don’t pretend to understand everything Taleb means by this. Thankfully, he left a glossary of all his innovative words.

What I loved about this book is that Norman Marks, a global expert on risk, wrote about the complex field of risk management in an accessible (lay) voice. I loved that, as a contributor to the ISO standards, he then pointed out the imperfections in the standards he had contributed to.

Intellectual humility is not often seen. I appreciated the way he explained world-class management as if he were having a conversation with the major risk management theories, pointing out strengths and weaknesses and boldly stating what he disagrees with or doesn’t actually work. I loved hearing his voice: “If I ruled the world, [I’d do it this way…].” Of course, I was curious to keep reading.

Ok: This is not an easy read like the other books I’ve recommended.

In fact, some parts of it require quite a lot of the reader. But it is a very smart and novel book on human reasoning, uncertainty, and probability.

Gigerenzer elegantly shows us how human behavior often is more rational than one might think, and his concept of “fast and frugal heuristics” is instrumental in understanding how we deal with probability and risk.

If you’ve read Thinking Fast and Slow by Kahneman and are open to some new and different perspectives on rationality and decision-making, this is your book.  

Reflection and reason are overrated, according to renowned psychologist Gerd Gigerenzer.

Much better qualified to help us make decisions is the cognitive, emotional, and social repertoire we call intuition, a suite of gut feelings that have evolved over the millennia specifically for making decisions.

Gladwell drew heavily on Gigerenzer's research. But Gigerenzer goes a step further by explaining just why our gut instincts are so often right.

I have heard Gerd Gigerenzer lecture and read several of his books. If you want to use your gut feeling and your mind, this book tells you how.

More than a century has passed since the First World War, but this book shows us that its humanitarian legacies are well worth remembering.

I appreciate this book for many reasons, but most of all, for the truly global perspective its authors take. They make it clear that the Great War was truly a world war. More than this, it should be remembered as a global humanitarian crisis. The authors examine many diverse efforts to assist both soldiers and civilians while also considering the messy politics involved in these relief efforts.

I find this book valuable for revealing the complex relationships between aid workers and relief recipients, a dynamic as central today as it was 100 years ago.

I especially like how this book widens the scope of analysis of humanitarian responses to include both human-made disasters (e.g., war, genocide, terrorism) and natural disasters (e.g., earthquakes, cyclones).

I learned much from the author’s multidisciplinary perspectives on the economics of humanitarianism based on his decades-long policy experiences in humanitarian aid and development.

I found several chapters in the book to be unique or rarely found elsewhere including “The Humanitarian Market” (covering data and perspectives on the supply and demand of humanitarian aid), “Survival Economics” (covering the deep needs of individuals and families living through disasters), and “The Transformative Power of Humanitarian Crises” (on how disasters can be springboards for institutional reform and long-term development).

Easy Travel to Other Planets by Ted Mooney, is a fictionalised story of an attempt at another Moon shot idea; the building of an interspecies communication bridge between humans and dolphins. This was a real experiment attempted in the 1960s, by neuroscientist John Lilly – which I made a film about, for the BBC, called The Girl who talked to Dolphins. Like God’s Debris, Mooney’s book challenges our perceptions of reality, and like Varieties of Scientific Experience, it tries to shed light on what it is to be human. Not only does it cover these grand ideas, but it also touches on some very prescient themes – such as our current epidemic of information overload and our existential environmental crisis.

I find this book outstanding for its various rare and extraordinary features: its expert coverage of the cleverly termed subject of ‘information overload’ in historical and modern contexts, the information explosion of Renaissance Europe, and the information revolution of our own time. 

It contains engaging accounts of knowledge collection and management in the comparative context of experiences from premodern Chinese, Byzantine, Islamic, and European cultures; fascinating illustrations capturing the book’s rich content;  and a wealth of primary and secondary sources, manuscripts and printed works, further enhanced by a comprehensive Index.

But above all, it is the book’s historically sensitive perspective that makes it literally ‘outstanding’: one not identifying a single factor, whether a technology, an institution, or cultural tradition, in explaining the nature and fate of our common heritage of knowledge transmission.