Twenty-one essays on the brain, the mind, and cognition in general. Realistically, I should have had some idea of what to expect when I saw how slim the book was. 106 pages? I have poetry collections that are thicker.

Individually the essays are all well written and interesting. But the trouble is that they are all based on short pieces written for a newspaper column, and this truncation varied between being mildly frustrating to downright annoying. There isn't room for Corballis to do more than mention things virtually in passing. No room to explore, to explain, to argue, to justify, to do anything more than dimple the surface of a field that he is obviously capable of writing about in depth. This is science-lite; superficial and therefore given to making pronouncements rather than offering explanations, or showing his reader any of the steps that lead to those conclusions. Basing a book on newspaper columns? Great. But in a subject this fascinating, this deserving of depth and rigor, to just reprint the columns, or to make only the smallest possible expansion? Not good enough. It's like going to a restaurant, and being given twenty-one amuse bouche, rather than the four course meal you were expecting. ( )