Elon Musk by Walter Isaacson review – arrested development

Walter Isaacson's insight-free doorstop makes at least one thing clear: the richest man in the world has a lot of growing up to do

Who or what is to blame for Elon Musk? Famed biographer of intellectually muscular men Walter Isaacson's dull, insight-free doorstop of a book casts a wide but porous net in search of an answer. Throughout the tome, Musk's confidantes, co-workers, ex-wives and girlfriends present a DSM-5's worth of psychiatric and other theories for the demon moods" that darken the lives of his subordinates, and increasingly the rest of us, among them bipolar disorder, OCD, and the form of autism formerly known as Asperger's. But the idea that any of these conditions are what makes Musk an asshole" (another frequently used descriptor of him in the book), while also making him successful in his many pursuits, is an insult to all those affected by them who manage to change the world without leaving a trail of wounded people, failing social networks and general despair behind them. The answer, then, must lie elsewhere.

There's a lot to work with here, but it doesn't make reading this book any easier. Isaacson comes from the his eyes lit up" school of cliched writing, the rest of his prose workmanlike bordering on AI. I drove my espresso machine hard into the night to survive both craft and subject matter. It feels as though, for instance, there are hundreds of pages from start to finish relaying the same scene: Musk trying to reduce the cost of various mundane objects so that he can make more money and fulfil his dream of moving himself (and possibly the lot of us) to Mars, where one or two examples would have been enough. To his credit, Isaacson is a master at chapter breaks, pausing the narrative when one of Musk's rockets explodes or he gets someone pregnant, and then rewarding the reader with a series of photographs that assuages the boredom until the next descent into his protagonist's wild but oddly predictable life. Again, it's not all the author's fault. To go from Einstein to Musk in only five volumes is surely an indication that humanity isn't sending Isaacson its best.