The Letdown
Dear Reader,
An acquaintance of mine recently posted a piece that had a most interesting theme. And this acquaintance is someone with whom I’m in general agreement, and over quite the range of things. Even when we disagree, it’s not so much about the ends as the necessary means by which those ends are best reached.
And the piece that was posted sat right in my sweet spot. The main theme—and presumably its eventual conclusion—was precisely in line with my own thinking. Indeed, the main theme was something I hold as a dear truth, one of the most helpful paradigms for my own understanding of the world.
The piece opened with a flourish—rhetorical and historical panache I could never hope to match myself, and I was genuinely gleeful as I read. Oh what a thrilling argument thread. And then the eventual conclusion—in almost perfect symphony with my own thinking.
And the piece was a complete letdown.
This might shock you (It did me.). I left the read perfectly deflated. So much promise, such a great start, such an agreeable conclusion. So where did it go wrong? The premises didn’t lead to the conclusion.
The basic argument structure ran roughly as follows:
All A is sketchy as hell
All A is analogous to all B
All B is a subset of C
Therefore, C is sketchy as hell
D is a nifty thing in the same category as C, except that it isn’t sketchy as hell
Therefore, given the choice between C and D, the obvious choice is D
Very well. There are two key things that need to be evaluated, the analogy itself and how the argument makes the overall move from B to C. I’ll start with the move from B to C.
Sometimes making the argument “real” is helpful, simply to clarify for our minds.
All wolves are sketchy as hell
All wolves are analogous to all dogs
All dogs are a subset of mammals
Therefore, mammals are sketchy as hell.
See the weird move there? We went from wolves being sketchy to dogs being sketchy (okay, canines, so maybe some plausibility there) to mammals as an entire class being sketchy. Somehow, information about wolves and maybe dogs is applicable to humans, whales, and the rest of the mammalian world. Change “sketchy as hell” to “poisoned by the consumption of chocolate” if you like. Swap in pretty much anything you like. “Carnivores.” Are all mammals carnivores?
The primary error the piece made was arguing from a particular analogous case—comparing potentially similar things like wolves and dogs—and extrapolating a universal case such that dogs represented mammals as a class.
Distilled another way, the central argument was that All B are a subset of C, therefore All C are suspect (and we need D instead). While I wasn’t quite on board with the “All C are suspect” portion of the argument, I might have been persuaded if it had been argued for. And yet “All C are suspect” was the central concern if “we need D instead” was to have any force as a conclusion.
Instead, the author expected me to make the leap from “all dogs are sketchy as hell” to “all mammals are sketchy as hell,” and that’s not a logical or even practical leap I’m going to make. It isn’t that that argument construction can never be made; it’s simply that it’s not a good one, aside from when it’s used as a starting hypothesis for further investigation. But when you’re making A VERY IMPORTANT ARGUMENT (which is what the occasion, in fact, was), then weak argument structures that are easily toppled aren’t adequate.
(Put another way, it makes what’s known as a logical fallacy, reasoning from part to whole. We needn’t worry about fallacies or Venn diagrams to note that just because a dog shouldn’t eat chocolate doesn’t mean that all mammals shouldn’t eat chocolate…)
Here’s the thing: I agreed with that particular argument’s conclusion that “we need D instead,” at least mostly. But the argument structure didn’t get me there.
Even more to my annoyance, the piece did a superb job of setting up this analogy:
All B is analogous to all A
All A is sketchy as hell
You can fill in the conclusion. It’s gloriously implied. And the piece almost established this argument’s merits. And… in that piece, I was 100% on board with the conclusion that “All B is sketchy as hell.” (I wouldn’t be on board every time such an argument is made, but that’s why you investigate the analogy closely whether you agree or disagree!)
But because the piece had moved from its incredibly promising argument by analogy to an altogether different conclusion, it left the promising analogy implied, but unestablished. The analogy was nearly complete—the parallels drawn so closely that even the most recalcitrant skeptic would have to acknowledge their force—but the analogy was left unfinished, available but uncompelling.
And so that’s why I was left profoundly disappointed: it was recommended by a person I respect; the premises were incredibly interesting and wise; and the conclusion was one I would readily grant and have argued for myself. (Indeed, the conclusion of my critical thinking manuscript echoes that very conclusion.)
The premises, however, didn’t lead to the conclusion, not in any sense that would persuade anyone but someone like me who already agreed with them. And where the premises might have led, and led well, they had been abandoned.
Not every piece will disappoint so. And you’ll observe that while I emphasize where in my read I was left frustrated, that I have not linked to the piece. The critique above is useful from a structural sense, but beating upon a weak essay becomes a sport rather swiftly, and I didn’t analyze it for sport. And I didn’t analyze it because it was a hate-read.
Whatever my severe disappointment, this essay was not intended to start as a hate-read and it did not finish so, even though I was completely letdown. Hate-reads are another thing. I’ve done them, though I must admit I don’t enjoy them. Well, sometimes there’s an enjoyment, but it’s an unhealthy one I do not recommend as a habit. (There are those who adore hate-reads, but as someone whose research is often a first cousin of the hate-read, I can attest that hate-reads are neither healthy nor desirable as regular practice.)
Thus, I will not name that letdown essay here, however much that PhD failed in their analysis. We’ll consider my hesitation in naming the piece a moment of restraint, one I think suited to the letdown read.
This is the thing about the deflation of the letdown read: how do you talk about it? It’s not a mere ambivalent read because you had anticipated something good or even great. And that unmet anticipation is the key to the letdown read.
My fall beckons with two such anticipated reads: Susanna Clarke’s Piranesi, which I’ve mentioned before, and the last of Megan Whalen Turner’s Queen’s Thief series. Advanced reader copies of Clarke’s novel have been sent out, and the early whispers are that it’s “fabulous. Just fabulous.” And Turner’s series has been perfectly lovely thus far, though I can’t write anything about it without spoiling things for you.
Of the two reads, if the Queen’s Thief series ends with a mediocre book, I won’t be completely letdown as a book series is hard to end and mediocre would be acceptable (though surprising). Plus, the book is YA, so the stakes are slightly lower in my mind. But if Piranesi is merely interesting and like an extended footnote from Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, as The Ladies of Grace Adieu reads and Clarke has even commented is essentially the case, then I will be letdown. Piranesi needs to pull off the uncanny brilliance of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. That’s it.
(Of the most tangential connection, Turner’s Instead of Three Wishes is a book I’d love to find with its original cover. It might not be the hardest task, but my light searches didn’t produce anything. The new cover is repulsive.)
Perhaps the healthiest way to avoid a letdown read is to never get too invested in a read, to acquire the “necessary critical distance.” Hogwash, I say. I do think that most reads should be approached as “I wonder what’s here” or “I wonder if this will be for me.” Most reads, though.
To never have a read you’re excited about—aside, perhaps, from the case of the world’s most reluctant readers—is absurd. That’s like heading into every meal thinking, “Well, I guess this is food today.” I’m sorry—I like certain foods. I get excited about certain meals. Most meals, there’s food and it’s fine. To never get excited about a meal though?
And so this is the difficulty: to get invested in a read, to anticipate a read deeply, is to open yourself up to the letdown read. Perhaps letdown reads don’t last as long in memory as when people let you down. Yet I still remember the sequel to Dear Committee Members failing to live up to the original. And vividly. (It’s at least a mediocre sequel, but that’s a drop-off from “genuine delight.”)
How we decide to moderate our approach to potential reads influences our frequency of possible letdowns. I should note that I have an occasionally overdeveloped contrarian streak. So when people recommend books or writers to me, I take the recommendation lightly most of the time. I’m also not in a perpetual state of “this is going to be the best” or “this is going to be the worst.” Nor, do I think, should anyone be in such a polarized approach to reading. So the frequency of letdowns shouldn’t be an overwhelming concern.
That leaves us with the rather anodyne idea that if we occasionally let ourselves deeply anticipate a reading experience, we’ve opened ourselves up to the letdown read. An obvious point, but perhaps fitting in conclusion to an essay on letdown reads.
In anticipation of better reads,
Kreigh
P.S. As I’ve written this piece and will have one perhaps as soon as next week on the clunk clunk clunk read, I realize that my own writing can quite easily be viewed through these critiques. That is, I’m sure a few of these pieces have been a letdown for you. As their author, I can attest that I’ve found a few wanting. I trust that if there are too many letdowns in a row, you’ll either tell me or simply unsubscribe!
P.P.S. The formal logicians among my readers might wish to claim that my casual argument diagram isn’t following narrow rules of formal logic. Fair complaint. Also, everyone but a formal logician can follow the diagram, and normal people are my concern, not the formal logicians. That said, anyone so offended is welcome to re-arrange and supplement so that my structure is “valid” and fully formalized. It’s not exactly difficult work.