I Read That: Late Bloomers
By Rich Karlgaard
When I was in my early twenties, I felt like I was a failure. I had a good job at a software company, a tight-knit circle of friends, and my youth. Yet, because of the unrealistic expectations I placed on myself, I felt like I had failed. I wasn’t saving the world, I wasn’t doing great things, I was simply a software engineer with a decent life.
In that state, I put Late Bloomers: The Hidden Strengths of Learning and Succeeding at your own Pace on my “to-read” list after seeing a review somewhere. I didn’t get around to reading it until just now, in my early thirties. After a terrible summer and winter, I feel like a failure again, and read Late Bloomers in an attempt to salve that feeling. As a thirty year old, the book gave me a little hope, but overall, I wish I had read it back then, in my early twenties. It would’ve given me more of what I was looking for.
What is Late Bloomers?
It’s a mish-mash of light history, light psychology, and light self-help centered around the idea of people who achieve success later in life.
The first sections of the book are dedicated to explaining our culture’s obsession with “early bloomers,” which author Rich Karlgaard defines as those who excelled early: people who rocketed through prestigious schools with high test scores and founded successful companies in their twenties. Of course, since this is a book about late bloomers, he takes pains to highlight some early bloomers who turned out to be failures, after all: Elizabeth Holmes, who became a household name after her company Theranos was exposed as a colossal tower of lies and fraud, and a journalist who fell from grace after a plagiarism scandal. These stories provide a bit of schadenfreude, a drink of wine made from sour grapes, showing the reader that sometimes “early bloomers” can fail too–it’s not all it's cracked up to be.
Karlgaard then briefly catalogues some of how the obsession with youth and early success came to be: shifts to standardized testing at elite universities, and an overall culture of youth and vitality associated with silicon valley giants like Facebook and Google. This section is not particularly interesting. The history of standardized tests has become more widely known with the recent debates around their use in college admissions, and the point that youth is attractive is pretty dully obvious.
Additionally, describing failures in the system provided little comfort. Maybe things are flawed, sure. Most people would agree. But how does that help me?
Luckily Karlgaard gets into that in more detail in later sections. He describes some basic psychology tricks like self-efficacy (believing that you can accomplish difficult tasks) and self-reflection that he claims are important traits for late bloomers to master. And he gives concrete examples of how traits like perseverance can be overly fetishized (if you persevere at something you’re bad at, it’s a waste of time). These sections, too, are pretty superficial, but they’re good reminders of lessons that are often undertaught.
Does he actually ever talk about late bloomers?
Yes, though surprisingly little. The book is most effective when it uses a story of a late bloomer to illustrate a point: JK Rowling’s success in her thirties after an undistinguished and traumatic early life, or the author’s own transformation from drop-out security guard to successful writer. These stories provide the sense that “it can be done” that I was looking for from the book, and they add heft to the the otherwise unremarkable surveys of history and psychology. But there’s tragically few of them. Karlgaard decries the dominance of the “early bloomer” narrative, but he provides few counter-narratives about late bloomers. I felt this gave the book a sort of futile air. Sure, late bloomers can exist, I thought, but the paucity of examples only illustrates how unlikely it is for one to change one’s life trajectory.
Perhaps that’s true?
It probably is. But it also illustrates into a notion that infects the book. The successes Karlgaard describes are often stratospheric ones: the loser who goes on to become a multi-millionare. The end goal is still the massive success that’s out of reach for the majority of the population. I found myself wishing that the book had included more realistic stories: the loser who goes on to be moderately successful, happy, and fulfilled, even if they don’t achieve earth-shattering success. These stories have to be more common “late bloomer” narratives, and their omission from the book disappointed me. As a broke thirty year old, I’m not terribly concerned about becoming a millionaire. I just want a little reassurance that things will be better than they are. The book never takes the time to consider that perhaps the end goal of endless fame and money is unrealistic for the majority of people, whether they bloom early or late.
But this goes back to my earlier point. When I was low in my early twenties, this book would’ve been much more impactful. As someone who was objectively pretty successful but was yearning for greatness, the examples would’ve been much more inspiring. So would have the fairly standard life advice dispensed within the pages. At thirty, though, I’d settle for a decent life, and most of the lessons Karlgaard preaches I’ve learned already. Perhaps that’s a sign I’m finally beginning to bloom.
Would you recommend this book?
No. It falls neatly into the light, pop psychology camp. It’s a breezy read, and it’s got some useful tidbits in it, but overall it’s a book that fails to entirely justify itself. If you’ve got a young late bloomer in your life it might be worth recommending, but those looking for deeper reassurance should probably turn to their existing communities for guidance and support. Fans of the genre might enjoy it, thought.
Does Late Bloomers pass the Bechdel test?
It’s probably preposterous to apply the Bechdel test to a non-fiction book, but I’m sad to say that Late Bloomers fails the Bechdel test fairly miserably. It doesn’t include any conversation between women at all.