Customer Reviews

Small Things Considered: Why There Is No Perfect Design

5 star:		(3)
4 star:		(3)
3 star:		(4)
2 star:		(8)
1 star:		(2)

 

 

This book is written by someone who has written other wonderful books about what it means to be an engineer. The topic of this book -- the design of everyday items -- should offer sufficient scope for another interesting book. And indeed, the book has lots of interesting information in it. The main thesis (that design is always imperfect, and the reasons why this is so) seems as if it ought to be sufficiently engaging to hold my attention through a book-length engagement with it.

Alas, the book is so poorly written that it fails on all levels. I gave it three stars because it was quite educational. On the other hand, given the author's track record and the inherent interest of the topic, three stars is an enormous disappointment. Finishing the book was hard, and I would not blame anyone who just gave up. Perhaps the author had a half-book worth of content and was forced to bulk it up to make the required word count? I don't know what happened, but I can't really recommend the book unless you are desperate to know how the paper cup came to be invented.

Advertising is based on the idea of convincing consumers that a perfect product will bring perfect happiness; Petroski offers the cold reality that since every product and service is created by humans, there is no perfect design.

Petroski is an engineer.

The first thing engineers learn, based on my ancient ordeal as an engineering student, is that nothing is perfect. Everything involves choices and compromises. Even when an engineer built "the one hoss shay" with such perfection that no single part would fail first, one flaw remained -- when it wore out, the whole thing collapsed instantly and completely.

At first, this book annoyed me. His first example of the epitome of design is the little plastic tripod that keeps the lid of a pizza box from being crushed onto the gooey surface of the hot pizza inside. There isn't even a name for that little tripod; failing anything else, you'd think someone would name it "Sam" in honor of holding up the roof. Samson, after all, was strong, useful and not quite perfect.

Yet, such is the genius of this book. He could have written about the design flaws that have caused two Space Shuttle disasters; instead, he takes everyday items we are completely familiar with and explains why these designs are less than perfect.

When an author can devote half-a-chapter to the design challenges of cup holders in a 1996 Volvo and make it interesting, you know he's onto something. Understanding why a cup holder in a car falls short of a perfect design, and why chairs, lightbulbs, door knobs, potato peelers, toothbrushes, paper bags and duct tape are still works in progress, gives you an appreciation for the design flaws in a Space Shuttle and in the human organization which launches Shuttles or even those which run the "intelligence" agencies. Only TV sitcoms and dramas offer "perfect" solutions -- which, in itself, is the major flaw of television.

Newspapers are sometimes called "a journal to expose the faults of the world and the typogarphical errors of its staff." The humour is barbed, but true. Petroski takes that idea a major leap forward, showing us in everyday terms why everything human's design is less than perfect. On that basis, he asks for an acceptance of the inevitable flaws of technology.

On the same basis, this book will give any thoughtful reader an appreciation of why everything is somewhat less than perfect, and thus all people should be ready to accept the inevitable flaws of others.

This was one of those books that I picked up thinking "wow, this is going to be great", and it just, well, wasn't. Although it has lots of interesting tidbits information, it is really windy. You have to sift through a lot of self-indulgent nonsense to get to the good stuff.
For instance, I thought Petroski's description early in the book of the drinking glass was neat, and as the subject of a short essay, it would have been so. But after another hundred-odd pages of similar descriptions (including a very tedious chapter about home-buying which made me wonder if the author believes he's the only person who's ever gone house-shopping), the book started to seem like an excuse for a grumbling, griping brain-dump. Henry Petroski writes a lot of books about designing mundane things, but I suspect that much of it is the same book over and over. I also suspect that like many professors, he really, really loves the sound of his own voice.
The book is worth reading if you like these kinds of books (and I do), but for entertaining ranting, I'll take Bill Bryson any day.

Henry Petroski's "Small Things Considered" tries to explain to the reader (who is apparently assumed to expect perfection out of everything) that there can be no such thing as a perfect solution to a problem, because every problem is subject to various factors. Every design must necessarily compromise among conflicting constraints, and no design can be perfect for everyone as these conditions vary for different people, and evolve over time. Sounds simple, doesn't it? Unfortunately, Mr. Petroski repeats this idea in every chapter. It was difficult to finish the book knowing that each new chapter would end up arguing the same point.

At least each new chapter brings stories of different kinds of design, often leading to interesting anecdotes about how different commonly used products came to be where they are today. The circuitous path that Dixie cups took to being a ubiquitous household item is contrasted with the major effort that Oral-B expended on designing a cutting-edge toothbrush. The winding roads that items such as duct tape and WD-40 took to being mass-produced products serve well to illustrate Mr. Petroski's point about the way designs evolve over time.

However, the fascinating examples from real life come too few and far between, for me. There is a lot of filler in the form of obvious statements ("A stairway that is too steep can cause the person who is climbing it to feel like he is using a stepladder.") and stories which stretch the definition of design. One chapter is all about the Petroski family's search for a perfect house and the problems they had with building an addition onto one of them, and seems more suited to dinner party chit chat than a book about engineering principles.

I agree with Mr. Petroski's overall points and appreciate the research he has done into the history of many household objects, but overall this book was less meaty than I thought it would be.

I usually finish everything I read, but I had to make an exception for this book. About half way through I was so bored I had to find something else to read. If you want details on the design process, look elsewhere. This book is almost entirely anecdotes and the author's personal feelings about products. It's almost like the author looks at the stuff in his house (paper bags and cups, office chairs,e.t.c.) and writes a blog of his thoughts on the products. If you want to know how WD-40 got it's name you might be ok, but if you want real details about the design process and product designs you need to find something else.

A disappointing, dull book.

If you've read any of Petroski's previous books, you know you'll find three things reading it: 1) Real-world and historical examples to illustrate his points. 2) Examples from Petroski's own household and life. 3) Rather dry, lecture-like prose to explain the theoretical points he wants to make.

In "Small Things Considered," Petroski has lost the balance among these elements that produced lively, informative books in the past. The real-world examples are few and far between, and mostly dull or trivial. The personal details are overdone and not very illustrative, which ties in with -- Petroski defines "design" so broadly that it covers not just engineering design or home design, but even the "design" of a casual dinner out with friends. The concept gets stretched so thin that it losses any usefulness.

The little plastic tripods that hold a pizza box's lid away from the pizza are the most interesting items discussed.

It seems obvious to me that Petroski had to beef up this book. There are some interesting design critique and stories in the book. About 2 interesting items per chapter. The rest of the book is dry musings by the author. He endlessly repeats the same idea over and over. The author even includes the notes he wrote for the chapter ideas for his book at the end to beef up the number of pages even more.

If the author would have organized the bits of interesting material together I would have recommended this book. This is a boring book. I believe there is a significant market opportunity for a book of this type that is better written.

I purchased this book from the Duke University bookstore, with a recommendation from a professor at another institution. I am completely disappointed with this book.

I am an engineer myself, so a layman's book on design would, by definition, be less than the approach with which I am accustomed. A majority of the material is Petroski filling pages. For example, in the chapter about the paper water cup, Petroski provides some interesting detail and history regarding how the paper cup came to fruition. He provides the names and dates of all of the relevant characters, and even includes an excerpt from a paper proving the necessity for clean cups. The remainder of the chapter is spent qualitatively describing the workings of the Brita water pitcher. Both his description of his drinking glass as well as his Brita pitcher would be better suited in a David Sedaris-type book of humorous essays, not in a book on the design considerations of small things.

I will complete this book, to justify the complete money I spent, however, it is not one that will be read in the near future. Perhaps the design part of my brain will find another use for the cash in my wallet the next time I reach for another one of Petroski's rants on everyday items.

Another reviewer criticized Petroski's style as being "so prolix as to be nearly unreadable." I sympathize, though actually Petroski isn't wordy here in the usual sense. At the phrasal level, the man has a fine style--clear, clean, tight, intelligent. His real problem is that he repeats himself endlessly, possibly because he has a limited message to impart. Another problem, perhaps even graver, is that his whole approach is way too leisurely. He apparently assumes that we have a whole semester to hear him out. I'll concede, the opening 8 pages were wonderfully promising, but by page 80, I found myself impatient and tired. Disappointed, too. I had anticipated learning how a clever designer actually thinks; instead, I just got more more and more variations on the same old theme--namely, that there is no such thing as a perfect design. Petroski's chapters would probably work just fine as discrete essays, but taken one after another, they feel like overkill. All this being said, I still plan to finish the book. The subject itself is fascinating, and Petroski has some good stories to share.

I really wanted to like this book, but I found myself quickly disinterested, though I forced myself to read the entire thing. The book is mostly a collection of anecdotes from the author's life, and little about design. Much of the commentary is very obvious and not terribly insightful (the chapter on his personal home construction woes was particularly boring). There are a few interesting sections dealing with the design history of famous product lines (like the Dixie Cup company and OXO kitchen tools). I have not read his other books, but I heard they are supposed to be good. Maybe Mr. Petroski ran out of ideas on this one.